


A Real Hero

by lotus0kid



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hero Rumplestiltskin Mr Gold, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 77,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9685385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotus0kid/pseuds/lotus0kid
Summary: Bellehatesknights, ever since Sir Gaston abandoned her village while it was besieged by ogres. Sometime later, Sir Rumpelstiltskin arrives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy fifth "Skin Deep" anniversary!
> 
> Also, warning for Gaston reaching an extreme level of creep in this chapter.

Stars float over the village of Collioure in a slow dance that echoes the revelers below.  On any other night, all but the watch would be in bed, pretending to sleep.  But this night, behind the great wall that surrounds the inland parts of the village, ale and laughter flow, and any argument quickly ends with a handshake or back-slapping embrace.  Now isn’t the time for petty squabbling.  The people of Collioure have claimed their first victory against a terrible, relentless enemy.  With the help of the gods, and a newly built trebuchet, they’ve managed to drive off a pack of ogres.

Three monsters lumbered out of the forest at dusk, though that number fluctuates with every retelling of the feat.  But all can agree, without the arrival of Sir Gaston and his plans for the hulking weapon in the town square, Collioure would have lost hope of seeing another autumn.  Everyone drinks to the knight’s good health, and some artistic souls even attempt a few verses in praise of his magnificence.

Their slurred poetry drifts up to the castle library, where Lady Belle sits and squints at foreign words written in vertical calligraphy in the collection’s rarest book.  Her gaze drifts to the window left open to admit a breeze and she estimates how much longer it will take for the revelers to fall into a drunken stupor.  Guilt immediately follows the unkind thought- all of Collioure has suffered this summer, not just her family.  Any reason for joy must be welcomed.  Even one as flimsy as a single trebuchet made of whatever scraps of wood and iron and rope they could slap together.

The library door creaks open.  “Belle?  Are you in here?”

“Yes, Papa,” she calls.

Lord Maurice makes his way through the stacks to Belle’s small writing desk.  He gives her a smile- tired, as always, but brighter than it’s been.  “Please, my girl, set aside your books for a single night.  I promise they will be there in the morning.”

“Soon, Papa, I promise.  I’m just working on this translation.  I think it shows real promise.  It talks about chemicals that burst when exposed to flame.  I think-”

Maurice lays a hand on her shoulder.  “You can think more tomorrow.  We must be seen tonight.  It’s as important to celebrate our victories as it is to...” Grief darts over his face, “To mourn our losses.”

“Victory,” Belle can’t help saying, “Singular.”

“The first of many, I’m sure.”

“Are you?  How?  One trebuchet won’t hold back a spring horde, no matter how grandly Sir Gaston boasts about it.”

“Belle...”

She ducks her head and bites her lip.  “Sorry, Papa.”

He gives her shoulder a soft squeeze.  “You’ve not missed the feast just yet.  I’m going down.  Translate another three sentences, and then I’ll ask you to join me.”

“I will.”

“Good.”  Maurice turns and walks back through the library.

However, too soon the door creaks again, and a deep, smooth voice says, “Ah, Lord Maurice, I’ve found you at last.”

Unseen at her writing desk, Belle allows her eyes to roll before she hunches over her translation.

“Good evening, Sir Gaston.  I was just going to the feast.  Will you accompany me?”

“Of course, my lord.  But first, I wondered if I could speak with you privately for a moment.”

“Oh.  Very well, sir.  What’s on your mind?”

After a slight pause, Gaston states, “The future.”

“Indeed?  That’s a weighty thing to think on.”

“Yes, but I’m hoping you might simplify it for me.  You see, over the past month, I’ve grown rather comfortable in your charming village.”  
  
“We do seek to make our guests feel at home, Sir Gaston.  Hospitality is a point of pride here, always has been.”

“And it’s a credit to you.  In fact, you’ve done your job so well, I’d very much like to stay.”

Belle blinks, and peers in the direction of the conversation.  She stands and moves on silent feet until she can see the two men standing among the shelves.  Maurice looks as bemused as she feels.  “Is that so?”

Gaston delivers a winning smile.  “Yes.  I’ve been traveling for over a year now, going wherever the king’s orders have sent me- I think it’s time I settled down.  And, as small and remote and provincial as Collioure is, I believe I could be happy here.”

“Interesting.  And in what capacity would you find this happiness?”

It’s Gaston’s turn to blink in bemusement.  “Why, as its lord, of course.”

Belle’s mouth drops open.  Gaston has shown some military skill, and his chiseled face and broad shoulders seem to draw the general public’s admiration, but she’s seen nothing to indicate any aptitude in him for the slow, meticulous, grinding work of actual governance.

“Sir Gaston, Collioure already has a lord,” Lord Maurice replies mildly.

His face creases into an abashed grin that’s closer to a grimace.  “Of course, of course.  But you are in need of an heir.”

Heat flashes in Belle’s stomach.  Twenty years of lessons in the governing of Collioure flow from her memory and she fixes her eyes on Maurice, waiting for his response with her breath held.

“Belle is my heir,” he says with steel in his voice, “She’s been my heir since her birth and she’ll be my successor on the day I die.”

Her breath rushes out with a swell of pride and love.  Damn this fool of a knight for thinking he can ride in and take what’s hers.

Meanwhile, the fool lets out a sad cluck.  “I see, my lord.  You’ve put up a brave front since your wife only gave you one child, but it’s all right now.  You don’t have to content yourself with a female heir.”

Maurice’s soft face turns stony.  “I am indeed content, sir.  Content with my daughter’s ability to govern this village.”

Belle decides she’s heard enough, and begins a careful creep to the library’s doors.

“With the utmost respect, a woman isn’t suited for such work, my lord.  You don’t have to worry about Lady Belle.  I’ll take excellent care of her.  She’ll be a wonderful wife and mother.”

Belle barely holds in a groan of disgust.  She’d throw herself outside the wall before consenting to marry Gaston.

“Perhaps she will someday.  She will also be a wonderful governor of Collioure.  In the meantime, you will leave at dawn to conclude your duty and inform the king of our need for the army’s assistance come spring.”

The smack of a fist on wood makes Belle jump and scurry to the end of a row to find Gaston glaring darkly at Maurice.  “I saved this village!” he snarls.

Maurice surveys him as he would an unruly pup.  “That remains to be seen.”

Gaston retreats, straightens his spine and lets his fists hang.  “You’re making a grave mistake, my lord.  Any nobleman would be proud to have the realm’s finest knight at his side.”

“You’ve got a habit of stating your opinion as a gods-given fact, sir.  Leave, before I deny you a warm bed and send you to the king now.  You’ve strained Collioure’s hospitality far enough.”

Silence holds the air taut.  Belle moves down a row in sight of the door but out of sight of the men.

“A warm bed...” Gaston murmurs, “As you say, my lord.  Farewell.”

Belle ducks into a shadow as he stalks past her and through the library door.  Even in profile he radiates fury.  Worried for the first servant that crosses his path, she moves to follow him.

“Belle,” Maurice calls quietly.

She holds up one finger and gives him a slight smile.  Then she steps into the corridor outside and hurries after Gaston’s quick pace.  To her confusion, he doesn’t go to the chambers assigned to him, or to the stables, or the feast, or even out among his adoring public.  Instead he travels a very familiar path that ends at her private rooms.

A strange weight fills Belle’s body as she watches Gaston from around a corner.  He stands in front of her door, head slightly lowered, seeming more pensive than she has ever seen him.  His hand lifts as if he might knock, but he pauses.  His hand falls to the latch, and Belle’s stomach twists as he opens it.  The door swings inward and she must swallow a warning cry as Gaston slips into her rooms.  Even out here in the hall, a sense of violation pierces her.  The ugly fact of his actions is clear.  Maurice refused to give Belle to him, so Gaston has decided to take her himself.

Within a few minutes that pass like hours, the door swings again and Gaston marches out.  Belle ducks around the corner, pulse racing until his steps fade away.  Her head swims with fear and revulsion.  She grew up reading tales of knights who were brave in heart and noble in spirit.  Maurice was her living example.  When Gaston came to Collioure, he seemed to fit the mold, for the first day or two.  His arrogant and shallow nature quickly decimated Belle’s childhood beliefs, but she never thought his corruption would run as deep as this.

She returns to the library, saying nothing of what she saw but wrapping her arms around Maurice as far as they’ll reach.  She stays by his side through the celebration, and eventually retires to a small cot set up in the library, as her own rooms still bear the stain of Gaston’s intrusion.  The man himself is nowhere to be found that night.  His horse’s stall is empty in the morning.  Belle hopes he rides fast to the king.  The only way she wants to see him again is at the head of an army sent to protect Collioure from the spring horde.


	2. Chapter 2

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

 

Breath ghosts from the assembled court as they wait in silence in the castle’s great hall.  The day’s chill puts a sting in the air, but no one would dream of wasting torches in daylight.  Eventually a side door opens, admitting Collioure’s high council.  Four men stand on a raised step, two on either side of the governor’s seat, which remains empty until the last person enters, flicking out the ends of a red, fur-collared cloak before sitting.

The steady blue gaze of Collioure’s lady scans the court, settling on two armored guards near the center.  “Bring in the prisoner,” she commands.

“Yes, my lady,” they murmur with bowed heads.

They turn on their heels and walk to the great hall’s main entrance, pulling open the doors.  From the hallway beyond, they receive the trembling figure of a man bound in chains.  As he is marched into the room, the court shrinks from him like he poisons the air.  When he stands before the council, a firm shove on his shoulders drops him to the floor.

“Present his charges,” the lady of Collioure says.

One guard extracts a piece of parchment from his pocket.  “The reeve Doutre stands accused of theft, my lady.  He was caught hiding bags of grain that were due to be stored in the common house.”

“How many bags?”

“Two, my lady.”

A gasp of outrage flies from the court.  The prisoner cringes until his shoulders nearly touch his ears.

The lady of Collioure waits until perfect silence returns.  “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Doutre?”

Weathered face crumpled in shame, his mouth twists from one side to the other, but he shakes his head.

“Are you certain?  This is your only chance before you are sentenced.”

“I... I didn’t... I just...” he stammers before his words fail completely.

The lady of Collioure stands then, and walks forward until she is one step from Doutre.  She crouches down and pure surprise drags his fearful gaze up to her calm one.  “You were scared,” she murmurs too softly for the court to hear, “You wanted to know for sure that there would be enough food.  For today.  And tomorrow.  And the next day.  I understand.”

The corners of Doutre’s mouth curl up in a weak smile.  The lady looks like she might return it, but it doesn’t quite happen.  Instead, she stands and walks back to the governor’s seat, sitting with her spine as straight as a sword.

For all the court to hear, she declares, “In punishment for your crime, you’ll be given ten lashes.  While you’re healing, you’ll be assigned to the night watch on the wall.  Every night.  When you’ve healed, you’ll join the repair crew, and you will work every day until you’ve paid back every mouthful of food you stole from us.  It’s been decided.”

Doutre folds over his knees, hoarse sobs shuddering out of him.

“Take him to his cell,” the lady says, “His punishment will be carried out at dawn tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lady,” the guards reply before hauling Doutre back onto his feet and half-carrying him from the great hall.

Once they’ve gone, she tilts her head slightly to the right.  “Who else is to be sentenced?”

“No one, my lady,” the man there tells her.  He has dark brown skin and wears a soldier’s battle-stained uniform.

If she lets out a tiny sigh of relief, no one notices.  “Very well.  Come.”

The lady of Collioure stands, pausing long enough to receive the court’s bows and curtseys before exiting the great hall through the side door.  The high council trails her along a narrow corridor that leads to the governor’s office.  The lady takes her seat behind an enormous oak desk and surveys an array of parchment spread across it while the council file in and take their chairs.

One man wearing a dark blue robe coughs ever so gently into his hand.  The lady’s eyes flick up to him.  “Do you think, perhaps, Doutre’s punishment was on the severe side?”  All eyes fix on him, but he simply shrugs and smiles feebly.  “Some might say Queen Snow has a cousin in the south.”

“Tell me, Cleric Victurnien,” the lady says, “Have you ever been to sea?”

“No, my lady, I’ve not.”

“Hm.  Well, neither have I, but I’m certain Councilor Arnaud can tell us that obedience is paramount at sea, even on a simple fishing boat.  The laws must be clear and they must be obeyed.  And when they are broken, there must be consequences.  Is that correct, Councilor Arnaud?”

The man beside Victurnien shifts in his seat, drags rough fingers through his thick red beard.  “It is, my lady.”

“I suppose even more so when land isn’t in sight.  And on this ship of ours, we are far from land indeed.  For now.  Which leads me to our next topic.  Captain Brevet, any news from the scouts?”

The uniformed man sighs quietly.  “No news, my lady.  But, it is somewhat early yet.”

The white lie hangs on the air.  They would have had word by now.  Some sign that Gaston delivered their call for aid.  They need instructions for how to accommodate the king’s army before it arrives.  If it arrives.

“My lady,” says the pink-faced man on her far right, flicking his thatch of black hair out of his eyes, “Now the ground’s thawed, how about a group of farmers go into the fields and see what might be salvaged?  One trip could-”

“Out of the question, Councilor Martine,” the lady snaps.  Her sharp gaze roves over the council as she says, “Spring is on our doorstep.  And you know what the thaw brings.”

The faces of all four men darken as they shrink in their seats.

“No one goes beyond the wall who isn’t a scout.  Not without a damned good reason that I have _personally_ approved.  Do I make myself clear?”

A quiet chorus of “Yes, my lady” answers her.

Arnaud shifts again.  “Do I still have leave to send out our boats?”

She considers for a moment.  “One boat, once a week.  For one more month.”

His furry eyebrows jump.  “My lady, that’s hardly enough-”

“Did you not tell me the Endless Ocean will be teeming with fish, since we stopped our ten-day harvests?  How is one boat not as good as two or three in the circumstances?”

“Well, it wouldn’t-”

“And if we’re attacked, do you wish to be the reason we’re short of able-bodied defenders?”

“O-of course not, my lady.”

“Right.  Of course not.  It’s been decided.”  The lady gestures to the rest of the council, “Is there anything else to discuss?”

They exchange glances and shrugs.  Victurnien sits forward with another smile, “I wondered if you might attend the service in honor of Ybius next week, my lady.”

“Look at the grin on him,” Brevet grumbles, “He certainly loves to pack in the temple every spring.”

Victurnien’s smile drops into an affronted frown.  “Am I meant to be displeased that our people seek comfort from the gods during these dark days?” 

“Perhaps if you prayed a little more, the gods might give something better than comfort.”

Victurnien raises both hands to the sky, eyes slipping shut as he intones, “The will of the gods is not for mortal man to dictate.”

Brevet huffs and crosses his arms.

“If I have time, I will attend the service,” the lady of Collioure says, bending over her parchment again, “Now, if that’s all, don’t let me keep you.  Good day.”

A chorus of “Good day, my lady” precedes the council standing and shuffling out of the office.

The door shuts behind them and Belle falls back in her chair, allowing herself a moment to simply breathe.  The scent of old wood and parchment fills her lungs, dragging her mind through memories of lying on her stomach on the floor playing with a doll during Maurice’s council meetings.  Their dull talk passed over her head with no meaning then, but she liked to listen just the same, sharing the odd smile with her mother.  Now she can hardly believe she was ever so innocent.

Her gaze wanders over the common house’s food inventory reports and updates from the healers on the recovery of the wounded, among other vital facts of the day in Collioure.  The information drifts in and out of her brain like a dream no matter how many times she reads it.  Memory has her in its clutches and it won’t let go.  She shoves herself away from the desk and leaves the office, walking through the halls until she emerges in the courtyard.  It’s nearly bare still, and a cold wind whips through it, but she can still make out tiny buds on the bushes and fresh green blades of grass poking from the dirt.  They fill her with dread as she approaches the two graves.

Or, one grave.  The grave of Sir Maurice is as elaborate as could be achieved in the circumstances- a tombstone the height of Belle’s hip carved with his name and titles, dates of birth and death, and a prayer to Idros, his patron god.  Beside it rests a small marker for Lady Colette, which will remain until there is a body for a tombstone to stand over.  Belle forces herself to stare at the memorials of her parents while reciting a mental litany- _They’re gone, they’re not coming back, it’s over for them, you’re alone._

She waits for the tears to come, but her eyes are dry.  They burn with their dryness.


	3. Chapter 3

“My main concern would be the salt,” Brevet says as he and Belle walk along the base of the wall that rises twenty-five feet above their heads.  It’s crooked more often than not, zigzagging between buildings until it carves a zone of relative safety around the less damaged interior of the village.  The rest of inland Collioure has been surrendered to the ogres, the people brought inside and housed as well as possible.  “It’s bound to have damaged the wood.”

“I suppose.”

“And Arnaud would kick up a fuss to lose his precious dock.”

“The wall is more important.  He knows that.”  The fisherman is her most easily cowed councilor.  He’s only comfortable on a boat, and will agree to most anything just to make his land-bound time less of a trial.  “But we shouldn’t risk it.  Not now.”

“The wall is holding, my lady.”

Belle meets Brevet’s gaze.  “It ought to.  It is our top priority.”

He bows his head.  “Of course, my lady.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a young soldier scrambling over the rubble toward them.  “Sir!  Captain!  There was a pigeon- a bird came back to the roost!”

Belle strides forward to meet him.  “From a scout?” she demands.

“Y-yes, my lady.  Here’s the message.”

She plucks a bit of paper from his fingers.  In the military shorthand of the scouts, she reads: _rider sighted in NE, lone male, armor and sword, headed for town_.  Belle frowns at the note before passing it to Brevet, who seems just as puzzled.

“One rider.  Why-?  This can’t be the king’s response.”

“We don’t know what it is, Brevet,” Belle says, “Come.  Assuming he makes it here, I want to see this lone rider.”

They return to the castle and climb the stairs of a north-facing tower. Wind howls through a hole bashed in the wall by an ogre’s wild strike.  Belle pulls her red cloak tight around her body and stands watch.  After a while, she spots movement among the swaying tree branches.  A cloaked figure atop a gray horse emerges from the forest and crosses the overgrown farmers’ fields.  He approaches the ruins outside the wall slowly, his steed carefully negotiating the debris-strewn road.  He stops just before passing behind the wall.  Belle can’t hear if he shouts to the occupants of the east and west watch posts.  In any case, they’ve been told not to answer.

Brevet comes to Belle’s side, looking through a spyglass.  “He’s a knight, surely.  I see the king’s emblem on his saddlebags.”

He passes the glass to Belle.  It allows her to see their visitor’s face beneath the lifted visor of his helmet- narrow nose and wide mouth, tanned and tired as he squints upward.  His gaze seems to land directly on Belle for an instant, causing her to flinch and step out of view.

“Shall I send for an archer, my lady?”  Belle is silent long enough for him to continue, “We don’t have to kill him, of course.  But if the king thinks what we need is another bloody knight... perhaps we should send a stronger message.”

Most of Belle agrees with Brevet’s plan.  Fury burns in her at the possibility of inviting one of Gaston’s ilk into her village.  Recently she’s come to think of her father as the last honorable knight in this realm.  She won’t be foolish enough to trust another.  And yet, they still don’t know for certain what brought this man here.  Belle has had little to be genuinely curious about these days.  This development is almost refreshing.  “No archer,” she says, “Not yet.”

“What then, my lady?”

“... Nothing.  We do nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Belle peeks outside again.  The knight has dismounted, leaving just the top of his helmet still visible from her angle.  It catches the afternoon sun and shines a gaudy gold.  Belle’s lip curls- even Gaston didn’t have gold armor.  “I want to see how he responds.  If he leaves, that’s an end to it.”

“And if he stays?”

“If he stays... we will deal with him.”

She moves to the stairs, but stops as Brevet asks, “What if there’s an attack, my lady?”

Her lips tighten for a moment before she replies, “What if there is?  If he does come from the king, that will be a stronger message by far than an arrow bolt.  If he survives.  It's been decided.”

Brevet must nod.  “Indeed, my lady.”

“Good day, captain.  Do keep me informed on the situation.”

“Of course.  Good day.”

Belle leaves the tower and returns to the governor’s office, intent on losing herself in paperwork.  It’s possible her gaze darts to a north-facing window before she refocuses on her duties, just once or twice.  But she remains keenly aware of the alien presence just outside the wall.


	4. Chapter 4

The knight hasn’t gone by the next day.  The watch reports he spent yesterday digging out a hollow under a collapsed building until he made a kind of sunken nest for himself where he stowed his saddle bags and armor.  Good camouflage, Belle supposes, except for his horse still standing in the rubble.  She turns her mind to the endless stream of far more pressing duties.

However, on the schedule is her personal daily inspection of the wall.  And so the afternoon finds her walking along the base of it, unaccompanied this time as Brevet is occupied running drills with the few living members of his company.  Her mind wanders to thoughts of the knight on the other side, her gaze unfocusing as if she might see through the rough planks that used to be people’s homes or shops.  Then a faint sound makes her pause, rest a hand on the wall and tilt her head to listen.

She hears whistling.  The knight is stranded in the perilous unprotected zone outside the wall, and he’s whistling.  Belle can’t remember the last time she heard someone whistle _inside_ the wall.  The people of Collioure know better than to make unnecessary sound.  It’s a fairly tuneless thing, but it seems cheerful.  It’s so puzzling she stands for almost an entire minute before stepping away and continuing her inspection, and it seems to follow her on the breeze.

Just as she finishes, a maid approaches her, dropping a quick curtsey and pushing back a gray headscarf that’s slipped low on her forehead.  “My lady, um, you’re needed.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s the water.  It’s gone salty.”

Belle thins her lips in slight annoyance, but says, “All right.  Let’s go.”

Years back, a governor of Collioure learned that all magic comes with a price.  Ever since, the village’s inhabitants did without it, except in extraordinary circumstances.  When the ogre invasion carried on a full year, then two, Maurice reached out to the fairies, and was granted an enchantment to be used only by him and his kin.

Today, Belle and the maid travel back through the castle and out on the sea side.  Belle ignores the stares of idle fishermen and displaced farmers as they go past the dock and up the wooded slope to the east where the mouth of a small cave opens up.  Belle takes the maid’s steadying hand and holds her cloak out of the way as they climb down into air that’s heavy with water and the sweetly metallic scent of cave moss.  Three other maids stand in the shadows around a hole that sloshes with the coming tide.  Several wooden buckets sit around their feet, waiting to be filled.

“Right, let’s get on with it,” Belle says, fetching a small envelope made of cotton from her pocket and extracting the pin inside.  The enchantment fades at times Belle knows she’s unqualified to predict, and so she stays prepared to refresh it.  She does this by pricking a finger with the pin, and letting dark red drops of blood fall around the hole, and then down into the churning surf.  Magic flashes a pale blue, and Belle returns the cotton-wrapped pin to her pocket and takes out a handkerchief.

Another maid kneels by the hole and scoops up some water.  She swallows it and smiles.  “It’s clean, my lady.  Thank you.”

Belle returns the smile, though hers is wane as she wraps the handkerchief around her finger and mutters, “If only all problems could be solved so easily.”  She gives the maids a parting nod, makes a mental note to run the pin through her candle flame in the evening, and climbs out of the cave.  This little chore is a hassle, but ultimately she’s glad to have a source of fresh water.  Collioure would be in a bad state indeed without it.

The knight will run out of water soon, she realizes rather sharply.  Then he’ll have a choice to make- risk going into the forest to find a stream, or abandon whatever it is he came here to do and seek out a different village.  Belle recalls his horse standing out in the ruins.  It doesn’t deserve to go thirsty or starve or be exposed to attack because of its rider.

Her father truly believed in hospitality.  That a village was only as good as its treatment of strangers.  But that was before.  If he’d known what Gaston did- Belle never told him, couldn’t.  But if he knew he would never have let another knight past the wall, no matter what mission brought him here.  Which leads Belle to the mystery that has yet to be solved.

She comes to a decision, and returns to the cave.  The maids are giggling about something as they fill their buckets.  Belle feels guilty for interrupting with a soft, “Excuse me.”

They jump to attention and stand perfectly still, as if Belle is an ogre they hope to escape.

She focuses on the smallest of the group, the one who came to her at the wall.  “You, what’s your name?”

The maid bobs and says, “Verna, my lady.”

“Come with me, Verna.  I need your help with something.  Bring a full bucket.”

“A-all right,” she mutters, scooping up a handle and scurrying behind Belle on the way out of the cave.

As they walk, Belle wishes she could make conversation, but surely that would only discomfort Verna more.  She might ask how long the maid has been in the castle.  They seem to be about the same age.  They might have grown up together, maybe even played sometime when they were both very small.  That’s all gone now.

They reach the castle courtyard, where eight soldiers train with long spears, jabbing them into the air at the height of an ogre’s eye while Brevet supervises.

“Captain, you’re required,” Belle calls.  Verna sets down the bucket with a small slosh of water.

He turns with a raised eyebrow.  “Very well,” he says, then addresses his company, “That’s all for today, lads.  Rest up, get some food.”  After the soldiers have filed out, he again focuses on Belle and Verna.  “What is it you need, my lady?”

“I’ve made a decision regarding the man outside the wall.”

“Yes?”

“We have to know why he’s here.  I’m going to speak to him.”

Brevet now raises both eyebrows.  “Bring him inside?”

“No.  I like him just where he is.  I...” Belle swallows.  “I will go out to him.  Alone.  I’ll put no one in danger but myself.”

The eyebrows knit into a frown.  “I can’t advise this, my lady.  Let me send one of my men.  They would-”

“I need to hear the knight’s intentions for myself,” Belle counters, “I’ll not get it secondhand.  Your men are soldiers, not messengers.”

The frown only deepens, “My lady, if-”

“ _Captain_ ,” Belle snaps as her patience cracks, “This is our course of action.  It’s been decided.  What you are going to do now is collect three of your men and join me at the gate.  Bring a groom as well, in case he wants his horse brought inside.  You will also alert the watch.  I want two archers on the wall from the time I leave until I return.  Is that clear?”

Brevet lets out a sigh with an underlying growl, but says, “Yes, my lady.  What of the maid?”

Verna flinches at the address, wide eyes darting between Brevet and Belle.

“I’ll bring him water dressed in her clothes.”  The statement draws both Verna’s and Brevet’s surprised looks.  “I want to see how he treats someone he believes is of a lower station,” she explains, “It will give me the measure of him far better than if I came as myself.”

Brevet reluctantly nods.  “That is wise, my lady.  And risky.”

“These are risky times, captain.”

“True enough.  Very well then.  We will meet at the gate.”

“Right.  Verna, come with me.”  The maid hoists her bucket and trails after Belle into the castle.  As they enter Belle’s chambers, she catches Verna gnawing at her lip, forehead wrinkled with worry.  “Something the matter?”

Once again, she flinches as if dodging a strike.  “Oh, no, my lady!  It’s just...  You’re going to pretend to be maid?  _You_ are?”

Belle doesn’t look up while she checks her pricked finger.  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?  Do you doubt my acting abilities?”

She means it as a gentle tease, but Verna’s face pales in horror and she insists, “No, no, of course not!  I was just thinking...  You want the measure of this man, but you may very well not like what you get.  Be on your guard, my lady.  That’s all.”

Her words draw Belle’s eyes up and she finds a dark sorrow in Verna’s gaze.  Belle’s seen it before- in the eyes of her reflection while thinking of Gaston.  “I will, Verna.  Thank you.”

She sends the maid behind a screen to change into one of Belle’s nightgowns and a soft robe.  Even in the casual clothes, Verna sits in a chair like she’s wearing glass while Belle puts on her dress.

Once the apron is tied and her hair is bound in the gray scarf, she emerges.  “Am I ready for a day’s work?” she asks as she stands tall for inspection.

A tiny giggle bubbles up from Verna.  “Yes, my lady.”

“Right.  You stay here, of course.  When it’s done I’ll return and you can carry on with your duties.”

“I will, my lady.  Um, good luck.”

Belle gives her a smile that’s almost warm, then picks up the water bucket and leaves her rooms.  The walk to the gate is interesting- it seems a maid’s dress gives its wearer the power of invisibility.  She feels like she could jump up and down in front of people with her tongue sticking out and they wouldn’t even blink.  It’s a strange feeling, neither welcome or unwelcome.  Belle sets her musings aside as she approaches the gate, where Brevet waits with the soldiers and groom.

“Look to the watch in case you’re needed,” she tells them.

“Yes, my lady,” they respond.

Belle moves to the gate, which is in fact some boards nailed together and leaned against a triangular gap in the wall not wide enough for three men to walk abreast.  Belle has sudden doubts about the knight’s horse fitting inside.

“My lady,” Brevet says at her elbow.

“Yes?”

“Do you know how to use this?”  He unsheathes the dagger that hangs on his belt and holds it out to her.

“Academically, yes.”  For her own peace of mind after Gaston, Belle halted her research into a permanent solution for the siege and devoured all of the library’s books on self-defense.

“That’ll do.”  Brevet hands her the weapon.  She slips it into her apron pocket.  She won’t draw it, unless she feels threatened.  But not until then.  Her stomach churns as she steps through the gate.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle has remained within the wall since the ogres’ most destructive attack.  The one that took her mother.  The wall grew higher by the day after that.  Once it reached the top floor of the castle’s main building, Belle could sleep without being tortured by nightmares.

Stepping outside now feels like venturing into another world.  There is nothing left of the streets and shops and homes from her memory.  Just husks of shredded and smashed buildings.  Torched shells creaking in the wind.  She must pick her way along the base of the wall, holding the water bucket steady while avoiding shards of glass and continually tearing her gaze from the woods beyond the overgrown fields.  Spring hasn’t arrived.  There’s nothing to fear.  Not yet.  She feels naked without her cloak.

Belle continues following the wall until the back end of the knight’s horse comes into view.  She clenches the bucket’s handle in a clammy fist and her muscles twitch with the desire to turn and run, but she forces her feet to carry her on.  The horse, which was nosing at the ground in the vain hope of finding some grass, lifts its head as its ears flick back in Belle’s direction.  It lets out a huff, which draws the attention of the knight sitting at a small campfire.

He jumps up and in a flash Belle has the dagger in hand, held sideways with the edge at the level of his neck.  Her heart pounds while she sucks in and blows out quick breaths through her nose.

The knight takes a half-step back, palms raised toward her.  “Whoa,” he says, “Apologies, miss.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Belle can’t force a word between her clenched teeth.  She can barely even move, her muscles are so tense.  So she does neither.

He points at the water bucket.  “Is, ah- is that for me?  I do hope so.”

The weight of the bucket has been straining Belle’s arm since she picked it up.  Now she doesn’t even feel it.  She decides that if she can’t be brave enough to interrogate the knight as she meant to, she might at least complete her other goals.  Eyes unblinking and dagger unwavering, she shuffles forward two steps, slowly sets the bucket on the ground, and shuffles back.

The knight does not move until she’s stopped.  His palms stay raised as he steps over to retrieve the bucket, only lowering to grasp the handle.  “Thank you very much for this,” he says as he moves back, “It’s greatly appreciated.”

Belle forces her breathing to slow, eases her grip on the dagger just enough to get fresh blood into her hand.

“Please, can you tell me...?  This is Collioure, isn’t it?  I believe I followed my map correctly...”

His face, which Belle might admit is handsomer than it seemed from the tower, radiates confusion.  Her voice stays trapped in her throat, but she manages a tiny nod.

For some reason, that seems to only confuse him more.  “But how can that be?” he wonders, “What’s happened here?  It’s not... not a plague, is it?”

Belle’s head twitches from side to side.

“No.  No, a plague wouldn’t do this.”  He gestures at the ruins around them.  “This is ogres, nothing but.  It doesn’t make _sense_.”  He frowns at nothing for a moment, then returns his gaze to Belle.  “In any case, if there’s no plague, would it be possible for my horse to go wherever it is you came from?  Rosie’s not safe out here.  And even if she was, I can’t feed her.”

Belle blinks in surprise that the knight suggested her final goal himself, though she’s not certain why she should feel that way.  It doesn’t take valor or even much intelligence to see the sense in keeping one’s mode of transportation alive.  She nods again.

The knight smiles, warm and soft and a little crooked.  It almost makes her want to smile back.  “Good.  Thank you, again.  Ah, I am assuming that- _I_ would not be welcome wherever it is you came from.”

Belle’s caution rushes back to her, tightening her jaw and her grip on the dagger.  Already this knight seeks to take liberties with her village.  Belle won’t be fooled by his performance of gentility.

“Right.  Understood,” he says with a smaller, more rueful smile.  “Or, actually, not understood at all.  But accepted, for now.  Please give my regards to Lord Maurice.  Tell him Sir Rumpelstiltskin has accepted his invitation to visit the lovely Collioure at last.”  His gaze wanders along the top of the wall.  “Too late, it seems.  How times have changed.”

Belle sent a bird to the capital to inform the king of Maurice’s death.  She has no way of knowing if it failed to arrive or if this Sir Rumpelstiltskin simply wasn’t there to hear the news.  She won’t inform him now.  Let him think there is still a strong, seasoned, male governor in Collioure.  Let him believe in a world where her father is still alive.

In any case, he’s given her his name and an indication of why he’s here, which will do for now.  Deciding he probably won’t attack the person who’s taking his horse to safety, Belle puts the dagger in her apron pocket.  Then she moves to Rosie, who huffs again and shies away.

“Sorry,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin says, walking over and catching Rosie’s bridle, “She’s a bit skittish around strangers.  Steady, girl, it’s only... Ah, what was your name?”

Belle didn’t expect him to ask such a question.  Couldn’t imagine he’d care.  In the moment, all she can do is draw upon the persona of her disguise.  “Verna.  Sir.”

He gives her that warm smile again.  “Right, an honor to meet you, Verna.  I am at your service.  In the meantime, let Rosie give your hand a sniff, would you?  She’ll settle down.”

He stands back while Belle holds her palm under Rosie’s snout.  She snuffles into it curiously, almost drawing a laugh from Belle at the tickle.  She swallows it quickly, tightening her lips.

“There now, Rosie, this is our friend Verna,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin murmurs, his low, accented voice curling over his “r” sounds, “She should behave now.  You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”

Belle is suddenly caught in the deep brown of his eyes.  Words seem beyond her again, so she nods.

“Very well.  Here.”  His fingertips light on the back of her hand, guiding it to the bridle then dropping away.  Her skin tingles in the wake of the brief contact.  “Many thanks for the water.  If you can spare some food in the next few days, do consider paying me another visit.  Farewell.”

Belle has almost never been dismissed in her life, and certainly not since becoming the lady of Collioure, but then at this moment she isn’t the lady of Collioure, is she?  It’s another strange thought, like the invisibility of the maid’s uniform, neither welcome nor unwelcome.  Belle bobs a maid’s curtsey, and travels back to the gate with Rosie plodding at her side.

The horse goes through first, ducking her head to fit until the groom takes the reins and draws her fully in and away to the stables.  Brevet meets Belle as soon as she follows.  “My lady, why did you draw the dagger?  Did he threaten you?”

Belle stiffens her spine to keep from hunching her shoulders like an embarrassed youth.  She must admit it seems Sir Rumpelstiltskin didn’t mean her any harm.  Not today.  “No, he- he surprised me.  That’s all.”

“Right, well, please be more careful.  Our archers nearly put bolts in his head and chest.”

Belle’s guts squirm at the thought.  “Yes.  Apologies.  Would you like to know what I learned?”

“Very much, my lady,” he replies and nods a dismissal to the soldiers.

“His name is Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  He said he came to visit Collioure, at Lord Maurice’s invitation.”

Brevet frowns thoughtfully.  “I’ve heard that name, Rumpelstiltskin.  He’s from the Frontlands, I believe.”

“He sounded like it.”  His accent echoes in her memory.

“Yes, I recall now.  He’s rather famous in those parts.  He’s got some kind of ultimate weapon against ogres.  Gods, the Marshlands must be in bad shape if he’s been brought in.”

“What weapon is it?”  Belle’s research has never revealed a truly effective weapon to fight ogres.

“Light magic, or so I heard.  He’s even called the Light One, back home.  Not sure how true it all is.”

Belle’s frown is skeptical.  “We’ll not put our faith in rumors.”

“Indeed.  Though he has survived many a battle with the beasts.  He must have done it somehow.  And you say he’s paying us a social call?  That’s it?”

“He seemed to expect...  I don’t know, he seemed surprised by our current situation.  As if the war was happening everywhere but here.”

“What on Earth gave him that idea?”

“I don’t know,” Belle says, though she has her suspicions.

“Well, in any case, what’s our next move, my lady?  Will we bring him in?”

Whereas an hour earlier the majority of Belle would have preferred to send him running under a volley of arrows, now she actually entertains the thought of allowing Sir Rumpelstiltskin inside the wall.  That bloody gentility of his...  “No,” she says firmly, before continuing, “If... if there are ogre-sightings from the scouts, or some other issue arises, then perhaps.  For now, he stays out.  You’re right, it can’t simply be a social call that brought him here.  He’ll need food.  I’ll go to him again, and see what else I can learn.”

“As you say, my lady.  Can I have my blade back, by the way?”

“Oh, yes,” Belle hands him the dagger before saying, “Good day, Brevet.” At his nod she strides back to the castle.  She has more important things to do than play dress-up and talk to strangers outside the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

Having swapped Verna’s clothes for a gown and her cloak and sent the re-dressed maid on her way, Belle heads for the common house.  The former meeting hall was converted to store the village’s food shortly after the fields were abandoned.  Their current supply of grain, flour, vegetables, and dried meat is organized and maintained here under Martine’s watchful eye.  Adequate portions are distributed regularly as needed per household.  The system has kept everyone fed, just enough.

Belle walks among rows of flour sacks and crates of potatoes to the desk where two women survey the record of who needs what and assemble baskets for every person and family.  “Good day, mistresses.”

They look up, eyes widening briefly before they nod.  “Good day, my lady,” the one on Belle’s left says.

“Can you tell me where to find Councilor Martine, please?”

They glance at each other, some silent information flashing between them.  The woman on Belle’s right says, “He’s- around back, my lady.  Through there.”  She tilts her head to a side door.

“Many thanks.”  She goes through the door, and turns at a sound that’s revealed to be Martine heaving up a sack and dumping its contents into a large open bin.  Brow furrowing, she greets him in a firm voice, “Hello, councilor.”

Martine starts and drops the nearly empty sack behind him.  “Yes, hello, my lady,” he replies, voice tight with guilt as Belle walks closer.

“Was one of the shipments rotten?” she asks, “Is that why you’re throwing it in the rubbish?”

“It’s not rubbish, it’s compost,” he corrects her shortly, “For the fields, when we farm again.”

Belle approaches the bin and peers inside.  She frowns and plucks out a green-striped squash.  “This isn’t rotten, Councilor Martine.  It’s meant to be eaten.”

His eyebrows rise as he shrugs one shoulder.  “Says you.  Doesn’t look fit to feed a pig, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.  What I will ask is why perfectly good food is going to waste by your own hand.”

He fixes a weary scowl on her as if she’s a dim child.  “Look, if you don’t want this... vegetation to end up in the heap, tell those foreign buggers to send real food.  My lady.”

Belle clenches empty fists to hold back a surge of anger.  Martine was a stubborn, obtuse man before the siege.  Being separated from his precious fields and forced to play grocer has only made him worse.  Maurice could barely hold the man’s respect- to Belle his fealty is an afterthought.  In a voice of jagged ice, she says, “You have my promise that every vegetable that comes off the merchant boats is food, Councilor Martine.  And since the fields were all left fallow, as you demanded, we won’t have a need for compost.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyebrows jump again, mouth pursed in worry.  “Perhaps not for the first season.  The next, however...  Can we truly risk being unprepared?”

Belle would love to say yes, but he is the farmer, not her.  She must rely on his knowledge, whether she trusts it or not.  “You can build as many heaps as you like, _after_ the king’s army arrives.  Until then, all food that isn’t rotten is to be shared and eaten.  It’s been decided, councilor.”

He sighs gustily, not bothering to hide a dark glower.  “Very well.  My lady.”

“Good day, councilor.”

He rolls his eyes.  “G’day.”

Belle glides around him, head held high on a stiff spine.  The man is a problem, she knows, but there’s nothing she can do.  They are trapped together, and must contend with one another as best they can.  In any case, the unpleasant encounter has reminded her that Collioure’s due a visit from the sea merchants from the Crescent Islands who’ve supplied the village with food and other necessities for over a year now.  Belle will need to meet with her chamberlain, to ensure they have the coin for payment.  The struggle grows every time.

Before she surrenders the rest of her day to an accounts book full of depressing numbers, Belle decides to steal a moment’s peace in the temple.  The round structure stands near the wall- Victurnien swears the will of the gods protects it during every attack.  Belle wonders why the gods don’t protect houses other than their own.  She’s never been devout, never chosen a patron god or learned more than the basic prayers.  But the temple is quiet and still, only occupied by a few widows.  Belle sits on one of the benches that encircle the seven marble statues of the pantheon and lets her eyes slip shut, just for a minute.

She gets maybe half that before she hears someone sidle up behind her.  At an ever so gentle cough, she opens her eyes and turns on the bench.  “Good day, Cleric Victurnien.”

His smile is bright and wincing.  “I do apologize for interrupting your devotions, my lady.  But I simply must know, is there truly a man outside the wall?”

Belle glances at the widows, but they don’t react.  She despises gossip, always has, but it’s not as if she swore the watch to secrecy, or that it would’ve held even if she did.  People talk.  They have little else to do these days.  However, that doesn’t mean they need every detail.  She stands and gestures for Victurnien to follow her outside to the stone meditation path in the temple’s small garden.

“We do appear to have a visitor,” Belle murmurs as they walk.

“Ah.  Is he a danger to us?”

“For the moment, it seems he isn’t.”

“Wonderful.  But, oughtn’t he to be brought inside then?”

Defensiveness curls in Belle’s gut.  She does her best not to let it show.  “Not before time.  We shall see.  He is a knight.”

Victurnien blinks in confusion.  “Another knight?  Alone?  Perplexing.”

“Indeed.”

“Do we know the name of this knight?”

“He calls himself Sir Rumpelstiltskin.”

Victurnien stops.  Belle sees his eyes have gone wide, mouth fallen open.  “You _didn’t_ say Sir Rumpelstiltskin,” he gasps.

“I did.”

His mouth stretches into a brilliant beam and tears well up in his eyes.  “Oh, we are saved!  It is a miracle!  Praise the gods!”  He claps his hands together and raises them skyward.

Belle grabs his shoulder and tugs him close.  “Silence yourself, please!” she hisses, “We’re no more saved than we were two days ago.”

He pats her hand as his beam turns soft and mollifying.  “At last our prayers have been answered, my lady.  The evil that stalks our land will soon be cleansed.”

Belle holds in a noise of frustration.  “What do you mean?  You’re acting like this Rumpelstiltskin is a demi-god or something.”

“Indeed not, but he is Chosen, you see.  A favorite of the gods.  He wields light magic.  I heard tales of his courageous acts on a spiritual retreat in the north.  If he has come to Collioure, our dark days have come to an end.”

“ _If_ he has,” Belle echoes with sharp emphasis, “You are to say nothing about this, Cleric Victurnien.  The man outside may be impersonating Sir Rumpelstiltskin, in order to gain the trust of his admirers.  I’m certain a man would say just about anything to get behind our wall, at this time of the year.”

The gleaming hope drains from Victurnien’s face.  “Oh.  Yes.  Yes, I suppose that is possible.”

Belle pats his shoulder, but says, “We will not be dazzled by an impressive name.”

“No, of course.”  Victurnien frowns and squints at her, “But... we would not leave him outside, surely.  W-we couldn’t...”

“You couldn’t.  I can.  And I will until the time is right that he should come in.”

He stares at her while something not far from disgust shades his face.  “My lady...”

“Good day, Cleric Victurnien,” Belle says, leaving him in the garden.  So much for her moment of peace.  She must see to the accounts.


	7. Chapter 7

On the day the watch reports an empty saddle bag hung on a stick outside of Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s shelter, Belle summons Verna to her chambers.

“If you need my dress and scarf again, you can keep them, my lady,” she says when she arrives, and hands Belle a bundle of gray cotton.  “I’ve been working on a new one.  It’s done now, see?”  She turns left and right, showing off rather fine stitch-work.

Belle gives her an approving smile.  “Excellent.  Thank you, Verna, you may go.”

The maid half-turns, but pauses.  “Um, my lady?”

“Yes?”

“The man outside the wall.  He is a knight, isn’t he?  They say he had his own horse.  And armor.”

Belle hides a grimace.  The gossip moved even faster than she predicted.  “He claims to be one, yes.”

Verna’s eyes sparkle with more interest than Belle has seen from her so far.  “Oh.  Is he handsome?”

Surprise pulls a laugh from Belle that’s more of a cough.  “Um, well, I suppose.  Somewhat.”

“Like Sir Gaston?”

“ _No_ ,” the sharp denial pops out of Belle’s mouth in an instant, “Not like Sir Gaston.”  She imagines that beast has permanently altered her perception of beauty, and she’s glad.

Still, it pains her to see Verna shrink into her meek shell and mumble, “Right, my lady.  Sorry.”

“He, uh...  His eyes are- pleasant,” she offers, “Brown.  Nice.”

A tiny smile appears on Verna’s face.  “Lovely.  Good luck, my lady.”  She bobs and slips from the room, leaving Belle feeling a little confused but mostly good.

She shakes it off, instead focusing on her mission.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin needs food and she needs to know more about what’s brought him here, and why he won’t leave.  Each passing day increases the chance of him getting caught in an ogre attack.  He’s a fool not to have gone already.

She meets Brevet and two guards at the castle entrance nearest the gate.  “Archers on the wall, my lady?” the captain asks by way of greeting.

“No.  Just keep the watch alert.”

“Of course.”

“And the food?”

“On its way.  Five days’ worth, if he’s careful.  More water too.”

“Good.”

“Will you take the dagger?”

That makes Belle pause before replying, “I...  I will.”  She doesn’t truly expect Sir Rumpelstiltskin to attack her, and one small blade won’t do any good against her other enemy, but to go with nothing...  She can’t do that.  She wraps her hand tight around the hilt when Brevet holds it out to her.

She’s forced to drop it in her apron pocket when a scullion arrives toting a canvas sack and a full bucket.  Her eyes widen at the sight of Belle in her maid disguise- she ignores her.  With the delivery in hand, she and Brevet walk with the guards to the gate.

“Take care, my lady,” Brevet says, dark eyes serious but warm.

“I will, captain.” 

The guards move the boards that cover the gate, and Belle takes a breath as if she’s about to plunge underwater.  The world outside the wall feels equally strange and perilous as she steps into it.  Her eyes are inevitably drawn to the tree line, where she sees more green budding on the branches- a vibrant reminder of impending danger gently swaying in the soft breeze.  How much snow and ice can still remain in the valleys of the Blue Mountains, Collioure’s first and last natural defense from the hordes?  Not enough, never enough.

Belle stomps down on fear that grasps at her heart as she approaches Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s shelter.  She only flinches a little this time as the knight emerges, climbing up to ground level and standing before her with his arms braced on his hips.  “Ah, Verna, I’m glad to see you again,” he says, smiling at Belle like she’s an old friend.

She bobs dutifully and carries her delivery forward.

He takes the sack and bucket with a nod, “And you got my message, wonderful.  Thank you for allowing me some of your supply, I’m sure you know there’s no hunting in these woods.”

Belle’s gaze is again dragged past Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  The first sign of ogres is an empty forest, creatures great and small either fleeing from or being devoured by the monsters.  Fear rises like bile and Belle can’t stop her feet from moving, shuffling away from the woods, back to safety.

“Please.”  She pauses in her flight to see Sir Rumpelstiltskin holding a hand out to her, smile turned beseeching. “I’ve been traveling for weeks, and I’d dearly appreciate some company, if you can spare the time.  Rosie was a delight, of course, but not much of a conversationalist.”

Belle should be glad.  She needs to get information out of him, if she could stop being a coward for a minute or two.  Digging up something like bravery, she manages to take a few steps closer.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin almost looks relieved.  “Thank you,” he sighs, “Thank you most kindly, Verna.  Please, sit.”  He gestures at two large hunks of wood set around a cold fire pit.  He sits on one and places the bucket beside him before digging through the sack.

Belle creeps forward until she can lower herself on the other hunk of wood, though her muscles stay tensed to run.  She hides the dagger’s outline with a few plucks at her apron’s fabric.  The woods stay silent and calm, unnaturally so.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin pulls a loaf of bread from the sack and tears off a piece that he then splits in two, holding out one half to Belle.  She takes it with a polite nod, though she can’t imagine forcing food into her stomach right now.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin munches away with ease, as if they’re sitting in the king’s courtyard.

“I did truly mean to visit Collioure,” he tells her, “I hope Lord Maurice knows that.  I never intended to spurn his invitation.  I just... hadn’t had the time.”

She nods again, glancing away from his contrite expression.  “May I ask how you met Lord Maurice, sir?” she asks, voice barely higher than a whisper.

“It was several years ago.  In the Crescent Islands.  He was there to negotiate trade, I believe.”

“And you?”

He wags his head slightly, almost seeming embarrassed.  “Oh, well, there was a, uh...  A type of squid, causing trouble in the harbor.  Angry beast, but I sorted it out.”

Belle can only blink as her imagination swirls with thoughts on how one might sort out a troublesome squid.  “What did you do?  Did you use light magic?”

“Oh no,” he quickly replies, shaking his head, “I did some investigating and discovered a clutch of eggs laid in a cave close to the harbor.  I had them put on a raft and the squid and I picked out a quieter spot for her to raise her family.”

“You- you didn’t kill the squid?”

“No reason to,” he replies simply, “She’d damaged some boats, dealt some wounds, but she’d not killed anyone.  She’d just been unwise in her nesting choices.  Hardly punishable by death.”

Gaston would have speared the creature between the eyes and claimed her mantle as his trophy without a single question asked, Belle has no doubt.  “How did you know about the eggs?”

“I talked with the local fishermen.  They could fill a library with what they know about squid of all kinds.” 

“They could.”  Maurice took Belle along with him on a couple of visits to the Crescent Islands.  She loved the hot breezes and white-washed buildings, and delicious squid-based dishes.

“You’ve been there?”

She snaps out of her pleasant memories and back to the ruins of her village.  “I- I’ve heard as much.  Sir.”

He gives her a crooked smile but she doesn’t dare believe she’s hidden her blunder.  “Anyway, after the business with the squid there was a dinner held that Lord Maurice and I attended.  He was quite good company, though he hardly stopped talking about the library he was planning to build here.”

Belle’s heart becomes a cold fist in her chest.

“He said it’d be the biggest of its kind,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin continues, “Open to all seekers of knowledge.  His wife’s idea, he said.  Sounded grand to me.  Did he build it?”

Belle swallows and murmurs, “Yes.  It stood... there.”  She points one weak finger past Sir Rumpelstiltskin to a burned-out skeleton of a large building down the road.

He turns in his seat, and his shoulders droop.  “Oh.  Can you tell me what happened?”

Belle can’t.  Grief and horror still stab deep into her soul.  But, she wonders if perhaps Verna can.

“There was an attack, this past spring.  The Lady Colette was in the library, having books taken back to the castle.  Her daughter, the Lady Belle, was helping her.”

Book after book thrown in crates, boxes, and chests.  Some bundled in sacks and sheets.  More carried out by hand.  But they never seemed to finish.  And soldiers kept interrupting, begging Colette and Belle to run, _now_.

“They were both supposed to return to the castle, but they stayed too long, and the scouts reported a second horde approaching.  Lady Belle was taken from the library.”

Dragged out, screaming as the doors shut because she knew that she would never see her mother again.

“Lady Colette ordered everyone to go.  Then the hordes came, and there was a fire in the library.  It drew the ogres’ attention, focused their attack away from the wall.  No one really knows what happened after that.  The smoke grew very dense.  Then the building collapsed.  Lady Colette never emerged.”

Air burns in Belle’s throat as she stares at the ash in the fire pit, rather than look at the fallen library and wonder where her mother’s charred corpse lies within it.

“Gods, what a tragedy,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin whispers.  His gaze is cast down as well when she can bear to look.  “Where were you during this attack, Verna?”

“I was... taking shelter, with the other maids.”  Yes.  Verna was perfectly safe.  Not screaming, not weeping, not commanding the soldiers to release her so she could run out and find Colette.  Not losing her mind to anguish.  Only the tight grip of her father’s arms kept Belle’s sanity from shattering completely.

“I’m glad you weren’t in danger.”

Belle stares at him, baffled by his apparent sincerity.  “Thank you.  Sir.”

“Please, don’t let me keep you out here too long.  You must have chores to do.”

It’s a dismissal, but one so gently given Belle almost feels like she could reject it.  However, even if her false identity wasn’t bound to obey him, dredging up the memory of that horrible day has left her body exhausted and her mind fuzzy.  He’s right, she does have chores to do, if not those of a maid.  Though she’d rather curl up on the ground, she is needed elsewhere.  Belle stands and curtseys.  “Farewell, sir.”

“Farewell.  Give Lord Maurice my condolences, would you?”

“Yes.”  If only she could.

Belle scurries back to the gate, slipping past the boards as soon as they’ve been moved far enough.

Brevet is by her side immediately.  “So, what did you learn?”

She pauses, mentally reviews their conversation, and realizes she barely learned a damn thing, except the poor nesting habits of a bloody Crescent Island squid.  Meanwhile one question from him had her babbling about the library and her mother’s death.  Anger directed more at herself than Sir Rumpelstiltskin roils in her gut.  Why does she forget herself so easily around him?  “He met Lord Maurice years ago in the Crescent Islands,” she mutters.

“And?  Why has he come now?”

“I... I don’t know.  I’ll have to visit him again.  Here’s your dagger, good day, captain.”  After passing him the weapon, she hurries off before he can see the shamed pink in her cheeks.


	8. Chapter 8

Belle scans the inventory report from the common house, firmly fixing every number in her mind.  It’s still not distracting enough to keep her from cringing at a knock on the office door.  “Enter,” she says.

Victurnien pads in, hands clasped before him.  “Hello, my lady, how are you today?”

“Well.  And you?”

“Very well, yes, thank you.  Are you- prepared for our visit?”

Belle sighs, and pushes herself away from the desk.  “As prepared as I can be.”

Victurnien smiles gently.  “Of course.  Shall we?”

From a desk drawer, Belle removes a thick, well-loved book.  Then she stands and comes around the desk, allowing Victurnien to tuck her free hand into the crook of his elbow as they leave the office.

Walking through the village, he bends his head near Belle’s to murmur, “Have you any news regarding our visitor?”

He's done well not to spread around rumors that the famed hero Sir Rumpelstiltskin is allegedly camped outside the wall.  Belle appreciates his discretion as much as she’s surprised by it.  “The watch says he’s begun taking shelter during the day.”

Victurnien hums.  “Wise.  Of course a man of his experience would know what to do, when _stranded_ in a dangerous area.”

Belle narrows her eyes at his pointed reply, but she doesn’t have time to rebuke him.  They’ve arrived at their destination, the former barracks of Brevet’s company.  As the siege wore on, healthy soldiers were replaced by the wounded and dying.  Civilian casualties soon filled empty beds as well.  Eventually, the barracks were fully converted into a hospital, the last able-bodied soldiers rehoused among the villagers.

They have a small staff of healers- pale, weary, kind people that Belle can only watch with awe as they carry on their grueling work.  At least at this time of year, the hospital is quiet.  The dying have gone to their rest and the agony of the wounded has past.  There are still several occupied beds.  People whose injuries are too severe to allow them to return to normal life.  Fractured spines, amputated limbs, damaged brains.  The healers keep them comfortable and teach all who can still learn how to live with their new circumstances.  The more people they can send home the better, as spring bears down on Collioure.

Belle never knows how to behave on her visits.  She can’t imagine the healers or the patients are particularly thrilled to have her appearing in their space.  But she can hardly ignore them, act as though her people’s blood hasn’t soaked the ground in this war.  However, she can’t stop from gripping her book and Victurnien’s arm as her legs tremble and cold sweat dampens her brow.  The horrible memory is inescapable, every time she sets foot in this building.

Doctor Girard comes to meet them.  He was a young man when he first came to Collioure.  Now wrinkles crease the corners of his eyes and white streaks the hair at his temples.  “Good day, my lady, and to you, Cleric Victurnien,” he greets them with a smile that’s only somewhat tired.

“Hello, doctor,” Belle replies while shoring up her strength.

“Gods’ blessings on you, doctor,” chirps Victurnien, “I count eleven souls under your care.  That’s down four since last month.”

Girard nods, “Indeed, we’ve made good progress.  I’m proud of our patients.”

“We’re expecting a Crescent Islands ship to come any day,” Belle says, “Be sure to give a list of supplies you’re beginning to run low on to Master Arnaud.”

“Of course, my lady.  Would you like to come this way?  He’s in a new bed now.”  Victurnien releases Belle’s hand, leaving her to follow Girard.

There is one patient that has survived his injuries, but the healers have decided is beyond hope of recovery.  Today he lies motionless on his right side, blank gaze fixed on something far beyond the hospital wall.  A thick, puckered scar winds around the side of his head.  Belle slips off her cloak and lays it over the back of a chair next to him, easing herself down on it next and setting the book on her lap.  “Hello, Cyril,” she says.

No reaction.  Not even a blink.

“We’re up to chapter five.  I hope you’re ready for some excitement.  I promised you a twist, didn’t I?”

She opens _Her Handsome Hero_ and begins to read aloud.  There have been times that she’s felt this was an exercise in futility.  But every so often, she could swear she sees a flicker in Cyril Vyne’s empty eyes.  He might still be in there, searching for the lost connection to his body.  And he deserves to be recognized, even if he can’t react.  It might be cruel to think, but she can’t help enjoying how no one interrupts her time with Cyril.  Without him she’d never get a chance to read, outside of her latest research topics.  She just hopes he likes the story, since it’s her favorite.

At the end of chapter eight she closes the book and says, “I think we’ll call it a day.  You’ll find out if Gideon uncovers the sorcerer’s secret when I return.  It’s good to see you, Cyril.  Take care.”  She gives his shoulder a careful squeeze, gathers her cloak, and begins making her way out, nodding to Girard and Victurnien where they sit with other patients.

She can breathe again outside the hospital.  This particular duty hasn’t gotten easier, but she’ll continue it, as her father would wish her to.

As the sun sets, Brevet comes to the office, rapping his knuckles on the door as he pushes it inward.  “My lady?”

Belle glances up from where she’s hunched over parchment.  “Yes?”

“Watch reports out guest needs feeding again.”

She leans away from the desk, straightening her spine with a twinge of pain.  “Very well.  I’ll get dressed, shall I?”

Brevet crosses his arms over his broad chest.  “At this point, it seems a bit absurd that the lady of Collioure is at this man’s beck and call like an actual servant.  But then, we’ve not yet found out what we need to know, have we?”

“He will tell me tonight, captain,” Belle replies in a steely voice.  Honestly, if she has to endure the supercilious attitude of one more councilor...

Brevet simply shrugs, and steps out of the way when Belle passes him.  Once in her disguise, she has the span of walking from her chambers to the gate to enjoy some sweet anonymity.  Even though it’s known she wears a maid’s dress to leave the village, if she keeps her head down and doesn’t interact with anyone directly, no one gives her a second glance.

A full water bucket and sack of food await her at the castle entrance.  She makes a note to take the two empty buckets with her at the end of this visit- then scolds herself for thinking like a maid.  She really must get Sir Rumpelstiltskin to reveal his purpose for loitering in the ruins.  Brevet’s right.  This is becoming absurd.

Her instincts still scream to turn and run as she makes her way outside the wall.  She keeps going, but slower than usual as she navigates the growing gloom.  She finds Sir Rumpelstiltskin prodding a fire in his pit.  At the sound of her approach he jumps to his feet.  In that instant Belle realizes she didn’t take Brevet’s dagger with her.

“Good evening, Verna,” he greets her.

“Sir,” she replies with a bob, then holds out the sack and bucket.

“Thank you,” he says, though his voice is taut with something she can’t identify.  She wishes she could see his face properly, but it’s cast in shadows by the angle of the fire.

“My masters want to know why you’re here,” Belle announces, unable to think of a subtler way to get the information she needs.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin stares at her briefly.  “Do they?  Interesting.  I’d like to know that myself, when it seems I could just as easily be inside your very fine wall, instead of out here with the season growing late.”

So she’s reached the end of his gentility.  He lasted longer than she would’ve guessed.  Without the dagger, she can only hope the watch stays vigilant.  While pondering how quickly the soldiers can sprint here from the gate, she says, “If you tell me why you’ve come, they will let you in.”

“I came to deliver a message from King Xavier to Lord Maurice.  And only Lord Maurice.  Can I please be taken to him?”

Belle swallows.  “You cannot.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin lets out an irritated huff.  “And why is that, Verna?  Why have I been left outside?  I may have only met Lord Maurice once, but I know he’d never leave anyone in danger when he could protect them.  He wouldn’t be so needlessly cruel.”  At Belle’s automatic flinch, he softens.  “Please, Verna, I promise I won’t be angry with you.  Just tell me what’s going on.  Has something happened to your lord?”

The time has come.  She can’t hide it anymore, though her heart breaks to even begin forming the words.  _Think of Verna.  He’s not talking to Belle, he’s talking to Verna._

Slowly, her tight throat relaxes.  “At the end of last summer, there was another attack.  The ogres damaged a portion of the wall.  Lord Maurice was inspecting it with one of our carpenters.  It gave way.  And he was killed.”

Belle was in the castle library, plodding through that damn translation, when Brevet appeared.  The expression on his face was enough to make her stomach plummet to her feet.

“Oh...” Sir Rumpelstiltskin breathes, sounding stricken.  He blinks a few times, then asks, “And the carpenter?”

“Minor wounds.  My- my Lord Maurice pushed him out of the way and took the full blow himself.  He was brought to our hospital, but he died within the hour.”

She followed the soldiers as they carried him on a pallet to the first open bed.  Stood against the wall, shaking and weeping in silence, as the healers did their best to save him.  Their best was useless.  His head was a mass of broken bone, torn skin, and blood.  He barely looked human.  But when they gave up, and stepped away, Belle went to him.  Held his hand until it grew cold, as did a piece of her soul.  She took his place in the governor’s seat that night.

“An honorable man to the end,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin murmurs, “May the gods give him peace.”

“Yes.”

“And now Collioure has no governor, unless...  The daughter, Lady Belle, you mentioned her.  That poor child.  She must be cast down with grief.  I suppose Lord Maurice’s high council is in charge.”

Belle chooses not to comment on this.

“This happened at the end of summer?”

“Yes.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head.  “It shouldn’t have.  None of it.  The report from Sir Gaston was definitive.”

Belle’s ears prick and her gut clenches.  “Report?”

“It’s how the king decides where to send his army.  A knight is assigned to a village, he goes and inspects their situation, and makes a determination of their needs.  If he believes the army must provide protection, he returns to the capital and delivers his report saying so.  The army won’t deploy otherwise.  According to Sir Gaston, there was a... a landslide of some type, not on the maps, that kept the hordes at a distance.  He said the village was safe, well-provisioned.  A haven.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s words spark a white hot blaze in Belle.  Gaston was thorough in his revenge.  For the sake of a bruise on his pride the knight condemned all of Collioure to destruction.  Because of him, her father died with false hope in his heart.  And now another knight stands before her, seeking to slither into her village.  Belle will not allow it.

She moves backward, and when Sir Rumpelstiltskin frowns and holds out a hand, she turns and runs.

“Verna!” he shouts.

Belle doesn’t stop.  Why should she?  He’s not calling to her.


	9. Chapter 9

Belle shoves at the boards to get back inside the wall.

Brevet appears, asking, “My lady, what did he-?”

“Come,” she snaps, only slowing her pace to a fast walk.

Brevet falls in with her instantly, and stays silent as Belle stalks to the office.

Her rage drains into cold dread as she lights candles and comes to stand before Brevet.  “It’s as I feared, captain.  As we all feared.  The king’s army is not coming.  Gaston made sure of it.  He reported that we were safe, and had no need of protection.”

Stark terror flickers in Brevet’s weathered face.  Then he presses his lips in a tight line, hunches his shoulders with his hands on his hips, gaze fallen to the floor. “Right.  Right then,” he mutters, “We have the trebuchet.  Another supply shipment is coming.  There’ve been no sightings, and there would’ve been this time last year.  When they do come, we’ll fight.  We’ll endure.  We must.”

Belle warms her chilled blood with his bravery.  “Yes.  We will.  Should we tell the others?”

He shakes his head.  “We don’t have to now.  Eventually, yes.  But not now.  Could start a panic.”

They wouldn’t want that, surely.  The people of Collioure should go to their deaths in a calm and orderly fashion.  Belle shoves that thought away as quickly as she can.  “Very well.  We say nothing.  You may go.”

“What of Sir Rumpelstiltskin?”

Belle’s gut goes sour.  “He stays where he is.  I won’t have one of Gaston’s brothers-in-arms in Collioure.”

“As you say, my lady.”  Brevet gives her a short bow, then leaves the office.

Belle stands a moment longer before leaving herself, walking through the castle and out into the moonlit courtyard.  She doesn’t stop until she reaches her parents’ graves.  There she falls to her knees and her eyes slip shut.  One hand rests on Maurice’s tombstone.  The fingertips of the other brush Colette’s marker.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.  I’ve failed.”

For an unmarked span of time, her mind descends into a fog of guilt and fear and sorrow.

Though most of her wants to lie down between the two graves and never get up, Belle can’t risk being seen like this. So instead she climbs back onto her feet.  She walks to her chambers, takes off her maid’s dress, and goes to bed where she can pretend to sleep.

She must fall into a doze, because she blinks and darkness is replaced by weak sunlight.  A gray day follows that matches a grayness in her mind.  She looks around and imagines her beloved village already a trampled ruin like the one outside the wall, populated by vermin and ghosts.  Perhaps Collioure will end up like other villages in the region- a fetid nest in which a new generation of monsters will be spawned.  Belle recognizes the danger of these thoughts soon enough.  Her people are alive now.  She can’t let herself act as if they aren’t.  She will always fight for them.

But apathy still seeps into her limbs and eventually she finds herself cowering in the temple, desperate for a place where she can shut her eyes for a while.  She even sends a wordless prayer for salvation in the direction of the circle of stone gods, just in case any of them are listening.  However, it’s Belle who hears something.  While she’s bent over knotted fingers, the sound of excited chatter reaches her ears.  She leaves the bench and steps outside to see people heading to the sea side of Collioure.

“What’s going on?” she asks a passing man.

He grins, “Lookouts sighted a ship, my lady.  Food from the Crescent Islands, isn’t it?”

Sheer surprise is enough to make Belle offer a smile of her own.  “Quite possibly.”

“Cheers, my lady,” he says with a respectful nod, and carries on his way.

Belle’s gaze follows him as she allows herself to draw in and release a deep breath.  Arnaud and Martine are in charge of dealing with shipments from the Crescent Islands, but she should make herself available.  She heads for the office, where she mostly shuffles parchment around while one ear stays trained on the hall.  When she catches the sound of footsteps, she grabs an inventory list to peer at while her councilors knock on the door and enter.

“Good day, councilors, is there something you require?” Belle asks without looking up.

“Uh, yeah, my lady, there is.”

Her eyes flick up at the discomfort in Martine’s voice.  Both him and Arnaud stand with sheepish, edgy expressions.  “What’s the matter?”

“See, uh... the prices have gone up for our shipment.”

Belle’s stomach curdles.  “Have they?  How much?”

“Three gold for each bag of flour.  Five for vegetable crates.”

Belle can’t stop her eyes from widening in her stiff face.  “Who’s making the delivery?  Did they give a reason for the increase?”

Martine shrugs.  “Tobias is on board.  He says it’s not safe to come here.  Too late in the season.  Needs to be compensated for the risk.”

Both Tobias and Belle attended the emergency negotiation of trade between Maurice and the other Crescent Islands merchants.  She read him as an honest and fair man, if only because he didn’t have the imagination to be otherwise.  “That’s ridiculous.  The boat anchors off-shore, and ogres don’t swim.  Did you explain this to him?”

Arnaud shifts on his feet with his eyes fixed on the floor as he mutters, “Fear don’t listen to reason, my lady.”

Belle can hardly believe what she’s hearing.  “Well, we’ll have to find something to persuade him, won’t we?  That is, if you think we’ll still need food and supplies come autumn.”  A small voice in her mind quips that indeed they might not.  She stifles it instantly.  “Are you certain he isn’t just... putting on a show?”

Martine’s brow furrows.  “A show?”

“Acting tough.  Flexing his power over us.  We are a captive market after all.  I suppose we should be surprised it took this long for the extortion to start.  I wonder what the king would make of this.”

Nervous smiles suddenly break out on Martine and Arnaud’s faces.  “I-it’s all right, my lady,” Martine says, palms raised in a placating gesture, “We’ll talk to him.  Work it out.  Won’t we, Arnaud?”

“Yeah.  ‘Course.”

“No, wait,” Belle says, frowning as they begin shuffling back to the door, “You may be able to bargain the price down some, but I don’t doubt it’ll shoot up again at the next delivery.  He can’t bully us like this, I won’t allow it.”

“What do you intend to do, my lady?” Martine asks.

Belle has no idea, just a vague thought that probably wouldn’t have occurred to her at all if she hadn’t mentioned King Xavier.  His messenger Sir Rumpelstiltskin talked of saving the Crescent Islands harbor from an angry squid.  He could very well be the sole reason Tobias didn’t lose his ship, or worse.  He probably wouldn’t listen to a word of Belle’s pleas for mercy, if she stooped to give him one, but if confronted by a man he owes so much...

It’s a gamble in just about every way, but Belle can’t let this leech drain Collioure’s already diminished treasury.  And if a large part of her rails against the thought of going to Sir Rumpelstiltskin for help, the specter of starvation muzzles it soundly.  She has a course, the best course for Collioure.  She doesn’t have to like it, just follow it.

“Sir Rumpelstiltskin has influence in the Crescent Islands,” she tells her councilors, “I believe he can make Tobias see sense better than you or I.  We will go to him, and r-request his assistance,” she must force the words out past stiff reluctance.

Martine and Arnaud wear twin masks of doubt.  “We thought he wasn’t to come inside the walls, my lady,” Martine replies, “We can’t trust him, Brevet says.”

Belle lets out a small sigh.  “Indeed.  Let’s call this a test, shall we?  To find out if he really is the famed knight he claims to be.  If he isn’t, we’ll rid ourselves of an imposter.  It’s been decided.  Go find Brevet, explain the situation and tell him to take Sir Rumpelstiltskin to the great hall in ten minutes.”

The councilors exchange glances with each other Belle can’t read before bowing and hurrying from the office.  As soon as their footsteps fade away, she leaps up and races to her quarters where she flings open the door of a wardrobe containing her finest gowns.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin cannot see anything of Verna in her.  From head to toe she must be the lady of Collioure.  She allows herself one stab of grief that her mother isn’t here to help her, and then sets to work.

During her mad rush to prepare, Belle comes to realize that her best gown of gold silk was not made to fit a woman whose food comes by sporadic oversea shipments.  All she can do is yank the laces as tight as she can and hide where it sags under her cloak.  She thanks the gods for the natural curls in her hair while pinning it into a flowing style a maid would never dream of wearing.  Finally, she strides to the throne room, pinching some pink into her cheeks as she goes.

She startles a servant who’s dusting the governor’s seat quite badly when she bursts into the great hall.  “Attend another chore,” she tells him.  He scuttles away instantly.

Belle arranges herself on her seat, back straight and chin high, prepared for battle.  She can’t be sure what Sir Rumpelstiltskin will do when he realizes her deception.  She doesn’t particularly expect scorn or outrage, but he could find some subtler way to take his revenge.  That’s what his kind is good at.

Her pulse jumps as the great hall’s main doors swing open and Brevet marches inside followed by Arnaud and Martine, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin boxed in by four soldiers.  Brevet halts smartly in the center of the room and announces, “My lady, I present Sir Rumpelstiltskin.”

He and the councilors and the soldiers swiftly step aside, leaving the knight to blink at finding himself facing Belle alone.  She watches in silence as his gaze fixes on her.  His brow furrows and she can see the beginning of a “V-“ form on his lips before he stops.  Bewilderment that’s almost puppyish fills his face, but he manages to bow deeply and say, “Greetings, my Lady Belle.  And condolences.”

Something tightens in Belle’s stomach.  “Many thanks,” she says curtly, “Have you been told about our current predicament?”

“There is a Crescent Islands ship off the coast.  And some kind of dispute over the price of food.  To be honest, I’m no merchant, my lady.  Trade negotiations don’t tend to involve knights.”

“But you were in the Crescent Islands.  You saved their harbor.  Is it possible the ship out there might have been destroyed if not for you?”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin considers this briefly.  “If I say no, will I be dropped outside the wall again?”

Belle cocks her head with pursed lips.  “Well, now that you understand our circumstances, what would you suggest I do with a _useless_ knight?”

She takes dark pride in his flinch at her harsh tone.  It’s as close as she’s likely to get to excoriating Gaston the way she dearly wishes to.  His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then rises up to meet hers again.  It’s clear and calm, as are his words, “What can I do to help, my lady?”

“You and I and my council will go to the ship and speak to the merchant there, and we’ll see how much of an impression you made.  I’m hoping you might inspire his better self, and keep him from bleeding Collioure dry in our hour of need.  Is that something you feel you can do?”

If he’s frantically working out how to avoid being exposed as a fraud, his face doesn’t show it.  “I will do whatever I can, my lady.”

“Right.  Good.  Let’s go then.”

Belle stands and strides in a direct line to the doors, letting Sir Rumpelstiltskin, Brevet, Martine, Arnaud, and the soldiers scurry to catch up with her.


	10. Chapter 10

The dock is crowded with people waiting for the shipment of food and supplies to arrive.  Belle feels the weight of their collective stare as she boards one of Collioure’s rowboats, followed by her councilors and Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  She’d like to tell the crowd not to worry, that everything is in hand and they’ll have their needs met soon.  She can’t.  Her people deserve honesty above all else.  The best she can do is project calm silence as Arnaud unties the rowboat’s mooring and pushes them away from the dock.  The people’s heavy stare is carried from the dock to the Crescent Islands vessel by fishermen who wait in boats to accept the delivery.

Maurice negotiated the emergency trade agreement with the Crescent Islands when the king banned travel by road throughout the Marshlands for all but the army.  Belle can admit it was never meant to carry on this long, but her village will not be the one to suffer for it.  All things considered, the agreement has been a great benefit to the Crescent Islands- it’s foolish that one of their merchants would abuse it now.  Greed is a powerful force, she supposes.  But then, so is shame.

The steady oar strokes of two fishermen bring them to a rope ladder hung off the side of the _Acheron_.  Belle musters all her concentration to climb it in her gown and cloak without plunging into the water.  She grasps the first hand that appears overhead to haul herself onto the deck.

She straightens quickly, armoring herself in dignity against a new volley of stares.  Brevet and the others clamber up behind her as a man in a dark silk coat steps forward with a look of wincing anxiety.  “Ah, my lady Belle, I- I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I don’t see why, if you’ve decided to renegotiate our deal, Master Tobias.”

“Right, well, of course...” he mumbles, clearly searching for any kind of guidance.  His eyes dart past Belle, and then widen in surprise.  “I-is that Sir...?”

“Do you mean Sir Rumpelstiltskin?  He came to Collioure a short while ago.  Are you acquainted?”

The knight comes to Belle’s side.  “We are, though it’s been some years.  How are you, Tobias?  Is your family well?”

Tobias swallows.  “Yes, yes, very well.  Thank you.”

“Linus isn’t having any trouble with his leg?”

“No, no, it healed just fine, sir.  No troubles.”

“Excellent.  I’m certain he learned his lesson not to provoke a squid, even to protect his father’s boat.  He’s a good lad.  Thank the gods nothing worse happened to him.”

“Yes.  Thank- thank the gods.”

“Now, could you perhaps explain the issue at hand here?  You know me, Tobias, I’m a simple man.  Not well-versed in trade as you are.  I admit I don’t quite understand how the price of food could grow so high between one shipment and the next.”

Tobias almost seems to blanch and his eyes dart around both Belle and Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  She follows his glance over her shoulder and finds Martine and Arnaud studying their own shoes with a great deal of intensity.  “W-well, sir, it seemed to us- to me- that the season was rather late.  You hear so many reports of attacks in this area.  So many deaths.  Avonlea fell in autumn, did you know that?”

“I’d heard, yes.  But what I’ve not heard, or seen, in all my years, are ogres sinking ships.  So I’ll ask again, what’s that got to do with the price of flour and cabbage?”

In the silence that follows the merchant squirms like a schoolboy.  “Um... well...  You see...”

“Master Tobias?” Belle says.

His eyes lock on her like she’s a glimpse of blue sky in a storm.

“Perhaps you would accept an increase of one gold coin for every five sacks of flour, and every three crates of produce.”  It’ll take a toll, but a manageable one.  And now she knows the man beside her is indeed Sir Rumpelstiltskin, which changes things.

Tobias looks like a blade has swung an inch above his head.  “I... yes, I accept.  That’d be... yes.”

Belle smiles.  “I’m glad.  I certainly didn’t want there to be any unpleasantness between us.”

“No, of course not.”

“I’ll inform my chamberlain to gather the extra coin.  After you’ve been paid you can begin transferring the shipment to our boats.  Agreed?”  
  
“We can begin now,” he blurts out, “No need to wait.”

Belle gives him a gracious nod.  “How kind.  And once that’s done, I’d like to request that you escort Sir Rumpelstiltskin to the capital.”

“What?”

Belle turns to the knight, takes in the surprise he really has no right to.  “There is a duty that has yet to be performed adequately,” she reminds him.

“Well, yes, of course, but- ah...”  He turns to Tobias, “May Lady Belle and I make use of the captain’s quarters for just a moment?”

Discomfort and confusion reign on Tobias’ face, but he nods and steps away from the doors behind him.  “Of course, sir.  My lady.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin gestures to the doors.  Belle doesn’t move.  “Certainly not without my council present.”

“All right.”  He gestures again, and Belle sails past him followed by Brevet, Arnaud, and Martine.

In the shadowy confines of the captain’s quarters, Belle crosses her arms and fixes a flat look on Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  “Well?”

“Might this have been something we could’ve discussed at the castle?”

“I needed to know you were who you said you were first.  Now I do.  Anyway, what is there to discuss?”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin stands blinking, jaw hanging open and brow furrowed.  “Wait, who did you think I was?”

“A man with armor and a horse and a name that might impress a gullible person.”

His expression doesn’t change.  “Right.  Well.  Glad to have cleared that up.”

“As am I.  Now I know you can deliver an accurate report to the king and have the army on its way at last.”

Martine perks up at that.  “An accurate report?  What about Sir Gaston-?”

“Silence,” Belle commands, quite certain Martine doesn’t deserve to have a voice in this moment.  She returns her attention to Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  “Do you understand your duty yet?”

“I do, it’s just...  I can be of more use to you than as your messenger boy.”  At Belle’s doubtful squint, he hurries to continue, “My intention was to send a letter with Tobias to the king.  A letter travels much faster than a man.”

“A letter gets lost more easily too.  Or destroyed.  Or ignored.”

“True,” he concedes, “But I promise you it would have the same effect as my presence.  A low status knight like Sir Gaston was required to make his report in person.  I have different privileges.  And while the letter is on its way, I’ll do whatever I can to improve your circumstances.”

Belle lifts an eyebrow.  “Are you an army?”

“No, but I’m a man who’s fought many an ogre in his time.  I _can_ make things better here.  Anyway, if you want a solid reason to keep me around, while I was- spending time outside the wall, I set eight traps among the ruins.  You might want to have me in Collioure so those traps get used on ogres and not the army, whichever arrives first.”

Belle bristles at the thought of this stranger disturbing the remains of the homes and shops that used to be part of her village.  If he touched the library...  But she must admit, if only in her own mind, he had to defend himself somehow.  It was a clever strategy.  He’s not like Sir Gaston, who turned up with nothing more than someone else’s plans for a trebuchet.  “You believe Tobias will deliver your letter?”

“I know he will.”

The man just tried to bilk Collioure out of a large portion of its treasury, but Belle read his respect for Sir Rumpelstiltskin as deep and genuine.  She believes the village would benefit from the knight’s presence, if only to bolster the people’s spirit with his fame.  She turns her gaze to Brevet, who responds with a “might as well” tilt of his head.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin will be monitored, Belle promises herself.  His role will be peripheral, advisory, nothing more.  So she says, “It’s been decided.  Write your letter.”

He bows shortly.  “Yes, my lady.”

Sitting at the captain’s desk, he quickly gathers a piece of parchment, quill, and ink.  In a somewhat unpracticed but still legible hand, Sir Rumpelstiltskin writes:

(Your Majesty,  
Sir Gaston delivered a false report on the condition and defenses of Collioure.  Lord Maurice is dead.  As soon as possible, send as many soldiers as can be spared to the village. 

It is my strong recommendation that Sir Gaston be located, detained, and questioned regarding his report. 

I will stay at Collioure and provide my services to its people and the esteemed Lady Belle. 

Your servant,  
Sir Rumpelstiltskin)

When finished, he leans back and looks up at Belle where she stands beside him.  “Will that suit, my lady?”

Belle has never met King Xavier, so she has no way of knowing if this short message will catch his attention at all.  But it states the facts clearly and honestly.  And she aches to see the look on Gaston’s face if and when he’s confronted by the king’s guard.  “For your own sake, I’d hope it does,” she replies, “If you stay, you live or die with us.”

He doesn’t flinch.  His deep gaze holds hers as he says, “Aye, that I will.”  His words feel like an oath.  Though Belle didn’t ask for one, she finds she’s not unhappy to have it.


	11. Chapter 11

Belle and Sir Rumpelstiltskin walk out of the captain’s quarters together, trailed by Brevet, Arnaud, and Martine.

From where he stands with another man, Tobias manages a brittle smile when he sees them emerge.  “So?  What’s it to be?”

“Sir Rumpelstiltskin is going to stay on in Collioure,” Belle responds, “In the meantime, he has written a letter that must be delivered to the king immediately.  You are going to take a portion of our gold to pay the captain and his crew for their continued service, and you’ll keep enough food and supplies to see you to the capital.  Is this acceptable?”

Tobias turns to the man with him, presumably the ship’s captain.  “Dion, what say you to an extension of our journey?”

Dion seems to roll his eyes without actually moving them.  He focuses on Belle.  “You’ll have a bird sent to the Crescent Islands? So no one thinks we wrecked on the way home?”

She nods, “I’ll do it myself.”

“Very well then.  We go to the capital.”

Tobias unleashes a wide beam, only to have it falter as Sir Rumpelstiltskin steps close, stone-faced as he presses the sealed letter against Tobias’ chest.  In a voice like silk on steel, he murmurs, “I want you to swear that you will see this done, in return for the service I did for you and your family.  Do you swear?”

Tobias’ hands rise to weakly clasp the letter, his wide eyes locked with Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s.  “I swear, sir.  Of course.”  His eyebrows jump and he holds up a finger, darting away and jogging to a door beside the one to the captain’s quarters.  After a moment he reappears holding a small chest.  With a proud grin, he places the letter within and snaps the lid shut, then grasps it firmly in both hands.  “It won’t leave my side.”

Belle might suggest tattooing the words on his chest if he wants to get serious about his mission, but for the sake of expediency she nods.  “Very good, Tobias.”

“The deal is struck,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin intones, “Do not disappoint me.”  He turns to Belle, and some of the severity clears from his face as he says, “My lady, shall we return to shore?”

Belle’s gaze travels over her councilors.  Only Brevet returns it.  “I believe our business is settled.  So yes.”

She moves forward quickly, accepting the guiding hands of sailors and the two fishermen in the rowboat as she climbs down the rope ladder with her breath held.  After she’s seated, the council and Sir Rumpelstiltskin follow, and the fishermen take up their oars.  As they row away from the _Acheron_ Belle notices sunbeams spilling through the clouds and throwing silver sparks on the water.  Her eyes fall shut and she allows a hint of relief to pass through her as the fresh breeze plays over her face.  She soon reminds herself that she’s only won a battle, not the war.  But then, Maurice’s voice echoes to her from memory, _We must celebrate our victories, my girl._

When they reach the dock, Brevet helps Belle out of the rowboat.  She pauses before the watchful crowd, lifts her chin to announce, “Our shipment will be delivered shortly.  Thank you for your patience.”

Worry vanishes from every face, and the people waste no time in preparing carts and baskets for the shipment’s arrival.

Their eager bustle fills Belle with energy, which hardens and sharpens as she turns to Martine and Arnaud.  “My dear councilors,” she says, “I’d like to speak with you in my office, if you can spare the time.  It won’t take long.  Then you’ll return to supervise the delivery.”

They utter their respective “Yes, my lady”s with carefully blank faces.

Belle leads the group into the castle, passing instructions to a maid to prepare the best visitor’s chambers for Sir Rumpelstiltskin and also send the head cook Mistress Potts to her office.  Behind a wall of calm, Belle is frantically pawing through memories of how Colette handled important guests.  Those were rare in remote Collioure, a fact Belle never resented until now.  A dinner must be held, she knows that much.  It won’t be a grand one, at short notice and with limited resources, but it must be done.

While her mind sorts a pile of logistical details, she stops and turns to her assembled council and Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  “Brevet, will you please have your men collect Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s belongings and bring them to his chambers?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good, and in the meantime, perhaps you can show him our armory and the company, so he can assess our situation.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin lets out a near silent chuckle.  “Straight to earning my keep, eh?”

Belle looks at him, taken aback and examining his comment for the hostility or mockery it must contain.  However, he simply stands with an easy smile, which is no less confounding.  “At sundown we shall have a dinner to welcome you,” Belle says, a hint of wary challenge creeping into her voice, “All of my councilors are of course invited.”

He bows his head.  “Many thanks, my lady.”  He turns to Brevet to say, “Shall we go now?”

“Indeed,” Brevet replies, then gives Belle a nod, “Until this evening, my lady.”

“Good day.”

They walk down a separate hall, and Belle goes in the opposite direction, allowing Martine and Arnaud to trail after her.  She spends the remaining journey to her office kindling the embers of her outrage to a low burn.  Once inside, she sits behind her desk and focuses on the reports that were delivered from the hospital while she was dealing with the mess on the _Acheron_.  Learning two more patients have been released does little to improve her mood.

Her gaze rises from the parchment to fix on Martine, then Arnaud.  The latter’s head has sunk far down as if trying to hide in his beard.  The former stares at the wall in a fine rendition of the accused waiting for the verdict.  “As I said, this won’t take long,” Belle informs them, “You know what you did.  And you know that I know what you did.  If you ever do anything like it again, there will be serious consequences.  I’m not sure what they’ll be yet.  Just know that I’ll be considering my options.  Carefully.”

Martine swallows.  Arnaud goes pale within his beard.

“You are dismissed, councilors,” Belle hisses.  Then she plasters a smile on her face and chirps, “I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

She’s unnerved them now and they almost stumble over their own feet attempting to bow and flee at the same time.  She watches them with bitter pleasure that quickly fades once they’re gone.  The truth is Belle doesn’t know what they did, she only has strong suspicions.  She dearly hopes they weren’t reckless enough to actually endanger their own food supply.  Perhaps they intended to make heroes of themselves by successfully lowering the price hike they engineered.  It certainly would’ve elevated their standing among the people, and Belle isn’t overly fond of her odds if it came to a popularity contest.

But things have changed.  Help will come in a matter of months.  Help is here now, or at least claims to be.  Nothing is guaranteed of course, but they’ve escaped the path to ruin they were on yesterday.  It’s not wholly impossible the one they’ve landed on today will lead somewhere better.

Belle busies herself with chores, writing a message relating the _Acheron_ ’s new course, and explaining to an astonished Mistress Potts that she’ll need to expand tonight’s menu beyond a fresh vat of vegetable soup and a dozen loaves of bread.  The good woman leaves the office looking like a hen asked to do advanced mathematics, but Belle chooses to believe she’ll come up with something acceptable.

With her paperwork done, Belle takes the message to the aviary.  It’s been one of their few strokes of luck that no attack has reached the southeastern tower.  Wind whips bits of fluff and dropped feathers through the air as Belle ascends a spiral staircase.  “Mistress Vivian!” she calls.

A head of wild silver curls pops around a corner.  “What?”

Vivian, the keeper of the castle’s messenger birds, is as gray as her flock with sharp eyes and quick hands.  Belle has never actually seen the woman set foot on the ground, always more concerned with the affairs of the sky.  “I have an urgent message to send to the Crescent Islands.”

Vivian’s eyebrows jump.  “Crescent Islands?  Haven’t sent one of those in some time.  Let’s see if they’re not too fat and lazy.”

Coops line the tower walls, each marked with the destination these birds call home.  Most are empty, but Belle hears faint cooing from one where Vivian stops.  “Right, hand it over.”

Belle presses the small slip of parchment into Vivian’s dry, gnarled hand.

From a pocket in her apron, she takes out a leather box on a strap and feeds the message into it.  Then she reaches into the coop and eases out a charcoal pigeon who fixes an orange eye on Belle.  Vivian examines the animal briefly and mutters, “Could be worse.”

“The message must arrive safely.”

“Don’t they all?” Vivian retorts with a wry squint before focusing on attaching the box to the pigeon’s leg.  She and Belle move to a large open window that overlooks the sea.  The bird squirms in her grip as she holds it outside.  “Off you go, and may Nevsa protect you.”

She opens her hand, and the pigeon’s wings flare and catch the wind.  Belle watches it fly out over the _Acheron_ and Collioure’s boats and wonders about the fate of the bird that carried news of Maurice’s death to the capital.  She imagines it swooping above hills and valleys and rivers, before it’s snatched from the air by a massive paw and stuffed into in a gaping mouth.  “Thank you, Vivian,” she murmurs, “Good day.”

“G’day, m’lady.”  Vivian has already turned her attention to a row of seed barrels.

Belle leaves the aviary and travels out of the castle, thinking to find Victurnien in the hospital counseling patients.  She could send his dinner invitation with a servant, but there’s some nervous energy winding through her she needs to walk out.  On her way down the road, Brevet’s shouted orders float over the roofs from the town square.  The company must be demonstrating their skill for Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  Belle cuts down a side street.  She ought to be quick about this.

Her stomach turns leaden like always as she enters the hospital, but she doesn’t let it slow her.  Girard looks up from where he takes inventory of freshly delivered supplies.  Belle’s glad to see they were the first brought off the boat.  “Is everything in order?” she asks.

“Yes, my lady, thank you,” he answers with a smile that reminds her how young he truly is.

“Good.”  She walks deeper into the hospital, soon spotting Victurnien where he sits with a patient.  She waits on the edge of their quiet conversation until he stands and steps away.

He stops short when he spots Belle, and the instant gleam of curiosity in his eyes is a perfect example of the speed of gossip in Collioure.  “Good day, my lady,” he greets her while approaching, “How are you?”

Belle lifts an eyebrow.  “It’s true, Cleric Victurnien.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin has been brought within the wall, and I intend for him to stay while we await the king’s army.”

His face splits into a beam and he claps his hands together.  “Splendid!  Oh, I must confess I’ve hardly slept thinking of him stranded outside the wall.  If something had-”  He catches his tongue at Belle’s warning look.  “Well, in any case, I’m certain you’ve made a wise decision, my lady.”

“Time will tell,” Belle replies coolly, “But for now, a dinner will be held at sundown in the castle to welcome him.  My full council is invited to attend.”

Childlike excitement strains the seams of Victurnien’s dignity as his says, “Yes.  Indeed.  Delightful.”

“Good day, Cleric Victurnien.”

“Good day, my lady.”

She accepts his bow and leaves the hospital, going now to the common house to watch food crates arrive.  Or, more specifically, watch Martine watch food crates arrive.  Belle savors his hunched shoulders beneath her silent stare from where she stands near the door.  She’s willing to bet not a single fruit or vegetable ends up in the bin this time.  Satisfied with proceedings for the moment, Belle wanders out of the common house.

Her unguided steps bring her quite by accident to the town square.  Brevet’s company is still there, bundling their spears into long canvas sacks.  Brevet and Sir Rumpelstiltskin stand by, involved in their own conversation.  Belle skirts around the opposite side of the square- not exactly sticking to shadows, but not avoiding them either.  She locks her gaze on the cobblestones ahead, but perhaps a bird or something darts in front of her and she happens to glance sideways just long enough to see Sir Rumpelstiltskin raise an arm and call out, “Hello, Lady Belle!”

She cringes like he cursed her, then forces herself to throw a stiff nod in his direction.  The knight is a nuisance already.  Belle can’t believe she has to sit through an entire dinner with him, but the memory of her mother will allow nothing less.  With that in mind, she returns to the castle and busies herself until the hour comes that she must prepare for dinner.  It’s been months since she bothered with more than one dress in a day, even now it seems a ridiculous waste of time, effort, and clean clothing.  But Lady Colette’s daughter will not be found deficient.  She does allow herself to select a dress that’s plainer than the gold silk, and more forgiving of her figure, or lack thereof.  She avoids looking in the mirror while she brushes out her hair.

As the sun sinks below the tree line, Belle settles her cloak on her shoulders and strides to the dining hall.  Her council and Sir Rumpelstiltskin await her as she enters, standing by their chairs until she sits in hers at the head of the table.  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

They return her greeting softly, then a brittle silence falls.

While servants fill their cups with watered-down mead, Belle allows her gaze to wander over her companions.  Brevet and Sir Rumpelstiltskin are on her right, both mostly focused on the empty plates before them.  Martine and Arnaud on her left look freshly scrubbed and tired.  Someone wisely shuffled Victurnien to the far end of the table where he can only throw eager glances in Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s direction without quite feeling comfortable enough to call out to him.

“Councilor Arnaud,” Belle’s calm address rings out through the still air.

His flinch is too quick to be hidden by an amiable grin.  “Aye, my lady?”

“The delivery went well?  No problems with your boats?”

“Not a one, my lady.  Our boats are fit and worthy, promise you that.”

She smiles, sips her mead.  “Very good.  It’s a comfort to have our stores well-stocked again, isn’t it, Councilor Martine?”

His chin drops to his chest, but he mutters.  “Surely is, my lady.”

Belle lets silence reign again, mostly just to make Victurnien squirm through the serving of a savory herb broth.  After several leisurely sips, she says, “You know, Sir Rumpelstiltskin...”

He glances up from his bowl, eyebrows raised.

“I hadn’t the faintest idea who you were before you arrived.  Even Captain Brevet only knew a few facts.  It was Cleric Victurnien who really enlightened us.”

“Oh?” Sir Rumpelstiltskin replies, gaze moving from Belle down the table where Victurnien glows like the dawn.

“Indeed,” Belle continues, “Apparently you’re a Chosen of the gods.  Their favored son.”

She might have expected him to puff out his chest and preen, as Gaston would’ve never stopped doing.  Instead, he looks like she mentioned an embarrassing affliction of his.  “I, ah...  I don’t know about all that.”

“You don’t have light magic?”

His eyes cut to her, unreadable in their darkness.  “I do.  But-”

“Of course he does!” Victurnien exclaims as his enthusiasm triumphs over decorum, “It is well-known, my lady.  Anyone who’s heard of the Light One has heard of his magic.  Wouldn’t you say, Sir Rumpelstiltskin, that your-?”

“Thank you,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin interrupts firmly, “But I’d rather not discuss it, if that’s all right.”

Victurnien deflates in confused disappointment.  “Ah.  Yes.  Naturally.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin sighs, “In all honesty, I prefer to use my wits to get out of difficult situations.  That’s something I can depend on, rather than any favor of the gods.”

Victurnien nods sagely, “True, the cunning of Sir Rumpelstiltskin is just as renowned.  Perhaps you can provide more detail on the subject of your time in Arendelle...”

Through the first course and their dinner of grilled sausages with roasted potatoes and sprouts, Sir Rumpelstiltskin relates a few of his adventures in subdued, matter-of-fact tones.  It seems he’s crisscrossed the kingdoms in his time as a knight, and his stories stir up Belle’s long-faded desire to travel.  She never could rid herself of it completely, even as she embraced her role as Maurice’s heir.  In any case, while ogres stalk their land, she might as well hope to travel to the moon.

After their main meal is complete, they move from the dining hall to a sitting room warmed by a lively fire in the hearth.  Servants deliver a tray of honey-drizzled cakes and pour tea for the party.  Belle refuses a cake as her stomach already feels uncomfortably strained, but sits in a chair and lets a full tea cup’s heat soak into her hands.

“So, Sir Rumpelstiltskin,” she says.  From his seat on a small sofa near her, he breaks his dedicated stare into his own tea cup to give her his attention.  “How would you assess Collioure’s situation?  Are there areas we can improve upon immediately?”

He blinks.  “Oh, ah, sorry, I didn’t know we would discuss that now.”

“Why not now?” Belle shoots back, “It’s late in the season.  Any and all actions to protect Collioure must be done _now_.”

“Yes.  Yes, you’re right, my lady.”

Belle lets her spine unclench slightly, easing back into her chair and gesturing for Sir Rumpelstiltskin to give his report.

“You’re situation could be much worse, as I’m sure you’re aware.  I wouldn’t like to think what Tobias would charge if you were getting fresh water from him as well as everything else.”

“Indeed not.”

“So, you’ve managed to keep some of your soldiers alive.  That’s good, but not good enough.  Men with spears are for ground battles.  In these circumstances, we need to focus on the long-range.  Distance keeps us alive.”

Brevet steps up to join them.  “We’ve got the trebuchet.  And the archers among my men.”

“Some archers, but more are always better.  And I’d use the trebuchet as little as possible.  When you hurl large objects at ogres you run a higher risk of having them hurled straight back, rather than injuring or killing one.  But they don’t throw back arrows, so archers are what you want.  I’d suggest asking for volunteers among the villagers.  All it really takes is a sharp eye, a strong arm, and the nerve to loose an arrow at the right moment.  Not terrifically rare qualities.  With your permission, my lady, I would lead a training school.  And, as you say, the sooner the better, to be ready when the first ogre finds one of my traps.”

“What happens then?” Belle asks.

“Ideally, a leg gets stuck, and while it struggles to free itself, archers fire upon it until it dies.  The good ones can make it quick- a shot through the eye, or an artery in the neck, then it’s done.”

“I see.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth twists as his gaze falls to the floor.  “But then, there’s the problem of what happens after.”

“Which is?”

“Which is you’ve got a massive corpse rotting on your land, fouling the air with plague, attracting scavengers and vermin.  It’s an issue with just one, and it’s compounded with every kill beyond that.”

Belle considers this.  “Perhaps we could make use of them.  Skin them for their pelts maybe.”

A tinkle of broken porcelain catches her attention.  “Oh, um- I’m sorry,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin mumbles, bending down to pick up his dropped tea cup.  “It’s- ah, it’s a bit chipped.  I’m- I’m very sorry.”

Belle peers at the broken rim.  “You can hardly see it.  Anyway, it’s just a cup.”  She won’t waste energy mourning a bit of porcelain.

“Right, well...  Typically, ogre corpses are burned where they fall.  I’ve not- not heard of anyone skinning them before.”

Belle half-shrugs, “Just a thought.  Not serious.”

Victurnien soon bustles over with cakes and more questions for Sir Rumpelstiltskin, and Belle lets him be monopolized while she considers his suggestion.  She finishes her tea, then stands and wanders to the hearth, motioning for Brevet to join her.

“Well?” she murmurs when he’s near enough.

“Makes sense,” he replies, “We could put some more farmers and fishermen to work.  Those on the wall already know the dangers.  Might as well put a bow in their hands, if they can learn how to shoot it.”

“And to be trained to do so by the valiant Light One of legend- wouldn’t that be something to tell the family?” Belle quips.

“His plan is sound, my lady.”

The day’s events are catching up with her, leaving her eyes feeling itchy and her limbs heavy.  Perhaps she should sleep on her decision, but she finds herself going to the sofa and laying a hand on Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder.  He breaks off an anecdote mid-sentence and looks at Belle’s hand like it’s a strange insect.  Then his gaze travels up her arm to find her face.  “Yes, my lady?”

Belle must be tired, because it takes almost two seconds to withdraw her hand, and there’s a strange warmth in her arm.  “It’s been decided.  You’ll have your training school, Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  And I’ll send word to our craftsmen to make as many arrows as possible.  Is that satisfactory?”

He unleashes that warm, crooked smile that is dangerously pleasant.  “Very, my lady.  Thank you.”

“I’ll say good night to you all then,” Belle addresses the room, “Until tomorrow.”  She dips into a curtsey and accepts their bows.  Belle’s attention is briefly caught by the ecstatic beam Victurnien has fixed on her just before she turns and leaves the parlor.

Once tucked into bed, Belle falls asleep in minutes, which has not happened since her father’s death.


	12. Chapter 12

The decision to train more archers was as timely as Belle predicted.  In the coming days she receives three reports from the scouts of distant sightings in the northwest.  Belle’s sickening dread is slightly eased by the knowledge that Sir Rumpelstiltskin himself has spent hours every day in the common house, informing all who arrive for their portion of food and supplies about the training school.  And as Brevet guessed, a number of displaced farmers and shore-bound fishermen volunteer.  When a fourth sighting just thirty miles from Collioure has Belle feeling twitchy and flinching at every sound, she decides to see what Sir Rumpelstiltskin has managed to accomplish so far.

She leaves the office and makes her way through the castle, stepping out into brilliant sunshine that fills the courtyard.  It’s the first truly warm day of spring and the heat nearly stifles Belle under her cloak.  At the far end of the courtyard she sees a line of at least ten people facing targets, bows held at their sides while Sir Rumpelstiltskin explains some fine detail of archery.  He steps away and raises a hand above his head.  “Go!” he shouts and drops his hand, signaling his students to nock arrows at varying levels of speed and grace.

To Belle’s surprise, they don’t release the arrows.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin gives the command to “Return!” and the students relax their bowstrings and replace the arrows in the quivers hanging across their backs.

“Go!” he calls, and the process repeats, over and over as the students’ movements become more fluid and quick.  During this exercise, Sir Rumpelstiltskin spots Belle and waves her over to join him.

She does so, and tilts her head close to murmur, “Please tell me they can do more than this.”

He shoots her a grin.  “Just warming them up, my lady.”  To his students, he says, “Go!”

Arrows are nocked down the line and Belle notices they’re tipped with small leather bulbs instead of bladed heads.

“Hold and aim!”

Belle’s pleased to see very little trembling in the arms holding the bowstrings taut.

“Release!”

The arrows fly, hitting targets with little puffs of brown dust before dropping on the ground.  Belle exchanges a glance with Sir Rumpelstiltskin, who says, “Training arrows.  The same weight as the real thing, but less likely to break, or cause serious harm if misfired.”

“I see.”

“Shall we view our progress?”  He bends an arm to her, and after a moment Belle tucks a hand into the crook of his elbow.  He leads her along the row of targets, all marked with a multitude of brown stains.  Belle’s not certain which are most recent, but Sir Rumpelstiltskin seems to approve of what he sees.  The stains on the last target are all quite closely grouped in the center.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin smiles broadly, “Impressive as always, Verna.”

He and Belle turn to the student at the end of the line.  The small maid returns Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s smile and the young man beside her nudges her shoulder with a proud grin of his own.  Verna nudges him back playfully.  Then she gives Belle a quick wave, before seeming to remember herself and drop into a deep curtsey.

“You invited women to train?” Belle asks in surprise.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin seems bemused, “Was I not meant to?  That might explain why so few accepted.  There are only three more in the other class.  But, as I said, all you need is a good eye, a strong arm, and the nerve to shoot.  I’ve not found that to be exclusive to men.  Have you ever been to the Highlands, my lady?”

“No.”

“Well, if you do, and you find yourself in a place called Dunbroch, I think you’d make fast friends with its queen.  She’s the greatest archer I’ve ever known.”

“Right.  Excuse me, would you?”  Belle lets go of his arm and approaches Verna, who tries to tuck her hands behind her without realizing she still holds her bow.

“Good day, my lady,” she says, bobbing a second time, “I- uh, I promise my chores have been done.  I usually only stay for half the lesson anyway.”

Belle smiles to hide wince.  What exactly did she do to inspire this particular fear in Verna?  Well, at least she knows how to put an end to it.  “You have my full permission to attend the training.  I’m glad you’re here.  It appears you are a much needed asset in Collioure’s defense.”

Pink rushes to Verna’s cheeks and she ducks her head with a bashful smile.  “Oh, dear, well, I do my best.  I make sure to listen to Sir Rumpel.  Stiltskin.”  She glances at where he stands in discussion with another student, then takes a step closer to Belle and whispers, “You didn’t say he was so handsome.”

Belle gapes at Verna, schooling her features a second later.  “O-of course I didn’t.  Why would I?”

Verna simply fixes a look on her that Belle doesn’t dare try to interpret.

Forcing herself to lift her chin rather than shrink away, she says, “Well, regardless, carry on.  Pray your new skills are never needed.”

Verna’s expression turns only a little contrite before she curtseys.  “I will, my lady.  Um...”

Belle tilts her head, “Yes?”

Verna gives a slight shrug.  “I was just thinking...  You could ask Sir Rumpelstiltskin to show you how to use the bow.  Just so you know what we’re doing, how he’s teaching us.  I’m sure he’d say yes.”

She has a point.  It’s the closest she can get to sharing an experience with her people without going on the walls with them.  “I will, Verna, thank you.”

She accepts one last curtsey, then turns to approach Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  His conversation ends the instant the student he’s speaking with spots Belle.

“Excuse me,” she still says for propriety’s sake.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin turns to face her.  “Yes, my lady?”

“Verna suggested you might show me how to shoot an arrow.”  A strange sting of nerves shoots through Belle, causing her to mutter, “If you can spare the time, that is.  I wouldn’t want to monopolize the lesson.”

A corner of Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth lifts.  “Not at all, I think that’s a fine idea.”  He casts a glance down the row of students, “No one would mind if Lady Belle had a go, would they?”

He’s answered by various shaken heads and soft murmurs in the negative.  Verna materializes from nowhere, offering Belle her bow.  “Here, my lady, hand me your cloak and you can use this.  My bow’s a bit smaller than the others.”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she replies, a little relieved to slip off the heavy garment before wrapping a hand around a well-worn leather grip.  Verna also passes her a training arrow.

“We are making due with the soldiers’ hand-me-downs,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin says, “I’ve had a word with some of the carpenters about making new ones, but proper materials are somewhat hard to come by.”

“Perhaps we can send a request to the Crescent Islands for materials, or bows already made,” Belle remarks while fitting the arrow to the relaxed bowstring, keeping it aimed at the ground.

“That may be wise.”  Sir Rumpelstiltskin steps behind Belle, close enough for her to feel his warmth.  “Right, keep your shoulders relaxed, and your back- well, yes, that’s good and straight, isn’t it?”

“It’d better be,” Belle responds stiffly.  It was a dark day when she realized she’d grown as tall as she’d ever be, which was not at all.  She vowed not to waste an inch of what she had by slouching.

“Bring the bow up.”  Belle does so, and does her best not to twitch at light touches under her arms that lift them almost parallel to the ground.  “Look down the shaft of the arrow to sight your target.”

Belle instinctively draws in and releases a breath, allowing her to relax slightly and focus on aiming her arrow at the nearest target.

“Like that, very good,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin murmurs.  A bit of heat darts through Belle’s stomach, there and gone too fast to identify.  “Draw the string back.”

It’s not easy, Belle finds.  Pride alone keeps her arms from quivering, for the most part.

“Fire when ready, my lady.”

Through the strain, Belle refocuses on the target.  Imagines it as an ogre’s milky eye.  The eye of the first ogre that smashed into the flaming library.

She releases the arrow.  It zips through the air and hits the target, puffing out dust on a high spot and tumbling to the ground.  Belle frowns even as Sir Rumpelstiltskin lets out a warm laugh.  “A solid strike, my lady, well done.”

Belle shakes her head and grumbles, “Too high.  Would’ve nicked the scalp at best.”

“Which would’ve been astounding for your very first shot.”

“And if beginner’s luck could kill an ogre, that would mean something.”  Belle bites her lip against her harsh words as she turns to see Sir Rumpelstiltskin taking a step back, gaze fallen.  She hands the bow to him.  “Thank you very kindly for the lesson.  I won’t take up more of your time.”

“It’s no matter,” he replies, returning her tight smile with a soft one, “Good day, my lady.”

“Good day.”  They exchange a bow and curtsey, and Belle takes her cloak from Verna.  She doesn’t miss how the maid’s and all of the students’ eyes have followed every second of her interaction with Sir Rumpelstiltskin as if they’re characters in a play.  _And the gossip mill churns ever on..._ Belle silently quips on her way back to the office.


	13. Chapter 13

Belle finishes a late dinner at her desk just as the door swings open and Brevet marches in.  “My lady, look.”  He holds out a pigeon which seems not at all concerned about the blood smeared on its breast feathers.  “This bird was assigned to Adrien.  He was scouting the nest in the ruins of Sorede, less than twenty miles out.  We must prepare.”

The prickly anxiety that has stalked Belle day after day collapses into hard resignation.  “Summon the soldiers.  Tell Sir Rumpelstiltskin to get his archers on the wall.  Tell Girard to ready the hospital for the wounded.  Have Martine and Arnaud spread the word for all others to take shelter.”

“Yes, my lady,” Brevet turns on a heel and leaves.

Belle’s eyes slip shut and she breathes through the fear knotting in her guts.  They will survive.  They’re prepared, better than they have been.  The wall is taller and stronger than ever, the craftsmen have turned out dozens of arrows, a week ago Sir Rumpelstiltskin moved his lessons to night to better simulate an attack.  It’s time to prove their worth.

They aren’t left too long in suspense before monstrous bellows float over the air and the watch’s trumpets signal movement in the forest.  The tune plays twice, a code to say four ogres have been spotted.  Now Belle must take shelter herself, surrendering her power to Brevet for the duration of the attack.  She leaves the castle with nothing but her cloak and _Her Handsome Hero_ , going to the long house by the dock where other women wait with their children, along with those too injured to fight.  Should the worst happen and the village be overrun, they will escape to fishing boats and sail for the Crescent Islands.  Belle’s had more than one nightmare about drifting on the sea, choking on the smoke of Collioure’s ruins, chased by ogre roars.

As she has during other attacks, Belle settles near a small group of pale, wide-eyed children and asks, “Would anyone like to hear a story?”

At their timid nods, Belle opens _Her Handsome Hero_ and reads aloud, doing her best to guide the children’s imaginations far away from what might be happening outside.

This is more difficult for Belle herself, who’s read these words more times than she can count.  She barely even has to look at the page, and so is perfectly aware of more women entering the long house with terror plain on their faces.  Fear twists tighter and tighter in Belle as fragments of the women’s whispers reach her ears.

“Did you hear the trumpets again?  That means six-”

“- know the wall.  They know where it’s weak-”

“Too dark for the archers to see-”

“- they’ll find the gate-”

 “- cracks on the west-”

“- it’ll collapse-”

Belle snaps the book shut and stands.  The whispers stop as all eyes dart to her.  “I’m going to get some information,” she tells the huddled group, “Won’t be a moment.”

She strides out of the long house, breaking into a run as soon as the door shuts behind her.  She races back into the castle and through the corridors until she reaches the stairwell leading up the broken tower that overlooks the wall.

She peers through torch smoke at archers lined up with Brevet walking behind them.  There are no gaps in the ranks, no one fallen in agony or avoiding damage in the wall.  She turns her attention beyond, where four ogres have breached the ruins.  Someone shouts, and arrows fly, drawing roars from the ogres who throw up arms that already bristle with bolts.  None of them fall, but one stumbles back and to the right, then staggers hard as a thick leg drops through a pile of wood in front of the library.

Another shout brings another volley, this one focused on the ogre that’s stepped into Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s trap.  Arrows pound into its flank, shoulder, and neck while it struggles.  It rears up, and Belle watches one last bolt draw a straight line to intersect the arc of the ogre’s head and pierce one rolling eye.  Its body goes limp and crashes down onto the library.

A cheer bursts from the wall, and Belle turns to see archers surrounding one of their own.  Verna thrusts her bow high over her head and pride swells in Belle’s heart.  Brevet steps up to the group and barks something that has them all regaining their positions and nocking arrows.  Fresh volleys drive the remaining three ogres to the edge of the ruins.  One grabs a hunk of debris and hurls it at the archers, but it clatters harmlessly down the wall.  The other two already lumber toward the tree line, throwing grumbling growls over their shoulders until the last follows.

Then the ogres are gone, having taken their first casualty.  Belle can only watch in disbelief as the archers cheer again and hurl curses at the backs of their enemies.  She searches the trees, fearing the beasts might return, but the forest is still and silent and the watch sounds a short tune to signal that the danger has passed.  Her eyes fall on the body that lies in the freshly wrecked library.  That will have to be dealt with, as Sir Rumpelstiltskin predicted.  But for now, Belle realizes she has a more pressing mission.

She runs from the tower and back to the long house, startling those inside quite a bit when she slams open the door.  “It’s over.  The ogres have retreated.  You can go home.”

A wave of shock goes through the crowd that slowly dissolves into joy.  Mothers scoop their children up into tight hugs.  Other people grab their friends and relatives for the same.  “Sir Rumpelstiltskin has saved us!” someone cries.

Belle opens her mouth to say it was Brevet on the wall and tell them of Verna’s incredible feat and the efforts of all the archers, but she’s shuffled aside by people streaming from the long house.  She goes her own way toward the wall where archers climb down rope ladders.  “Captain!” she calls to Brevet.

He turns and frowns.  “I just sent someone to fetch you.  The ogres-”

“Are gone, I know.  I saw it.”

His frown deepens.  “What do you mean?  You were meant to be sheltering at the docks.  You were meant to stay _safe_.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I had to see what was going on.  And I’m glad I did.  I saw our archer kill an ogre.  Where is Verna?”

“Here, my lady,” says a voice from the group that has already descended from the wall.

As soon as Belle sees Verna, she marches forward and pulls her into a hug.  “What you did was amazing,” Belle murmurs, “I’ll never forget it.”

“Th-thank you, my lady,” Verna replies, fingertips lightly clasping Belle’s waist.

Belle steps back, but keeps an arm around Verna’s shoulders as she addresses Brevet and the archers, “I’m not sure we can manage a feast like we did last summer, but I want you to know how grateful I am for your actions tonight, and how proud I am to know Collioure has such brave defenders.  Of course this isn’t the end of our fight, but you’ve proven our strength.  When the king’s army comes, we can tell them we stood firm, and made the ogres pay for what they’ve taken from us.  Thank you.”

There are smiles and nods and a few back-slaps around the group, and then the archers talk amongst themselves, arranging their own celebrations at home.  Belle wishes she could give them a parade through the village and a reward of gold, but her heartfelt words will have to do.

People have begun emerging from where they’ve hidden, and Belle spots Sir Rumpelstiltskin coming out of the carpenters’ workshop where the arrows are stored.  His gaze meets hers and he raises a hand, but before he can speak a throng of villagers surrounds him, exclaiming their gratitude to the wonderful knight.  Even the archers begin applauding, Verna included.

“What are you doing?” Belle asks her, “Sir Rumpelstiltskin didn’t fight in this battle, you did.”

Only a trace of discomfort glances over Verna’s face.  “Yes, but he helped us.  We couldn’t have done it without him.”

“But you _did_ ,” Belle insists, confusion stirring anger, “He wasn’t there.  It was you.  They should be cheering for _you_!”

Verna gives her a look Belle remembers her old nanny wearing.  “My lady, there’s no use being upset about it.  This is a happy time.”

She slips out from under Belle’s arm then, vanishing into the crowd that has no idea another ogre-slayer walks among them.  It occurs to Belle that she couldn’t name who manned the trebuchet the night Collioure had its first victory, only that Gaston was given the credit.  Shame adds a new sting to her dissatisfaction.  She feels a hand on her shoulder and finds Brevet at her side.

“A good soldier doesn’t seek glory and praise, my lady,” he says.

“That doesn’t mean they should be ignored when they’ve earned it.  Verna is a hero.  Our archers are heroes.  But I already know all anyone will say is Sir Rumpelstiltskin saved us- hang the people who did the actual work.”

Old resignation fills Brevet’s face.  He gives her a half-shrug, “At least we’re alive to suffer such injustice, eh?  Come, my lady.”

She allows Brevet to lead her toward the crowd that surges around Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  He spots them and begins the slow process of extracting himself from his admirers, sharing grins and shaking hands as he goes.  Once he’s joined Belle and Brevet, he says, “I presume it went well?”

Belle’s surprised he admitted his ignorance out where anyone could hear him.  She takes the opportunity to step forward and declare as much to the crowd as to him, “Our archers performed brilliantly.  An ogre lies dead outside the wall, thanks to them.  And thanks to Verna, in particular, who fired the killing bolt.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin nods, his face filled with pride.  “She’s a natural, Verna.  I doubt it’s the last ogre she’ll fell.”

“And now the excitement’s done, it’s time for rest,” Brevet announces, “But perhaps first a celebratory drink, eh, Sir Rumpel?”

“Certainly, captain.”

“Good.  My lady, will you join us?”

Belle certainly feels too edgy to sleep for various reasons- perhaps a quiet drink will calm her down.  “I will, captain,” she says.

He gives a slight bow and offers his arm for her to hold on their way to castle.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin follows behind.


	14. Chapter 14

From her seat on a sofa, Belle accepts a goblet of chouchen from a servant, and exchanges a swift smile of relief with her as well.  Other servants build up a fire in the sitting room hearth and pour drinks for Brevet and Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  Belle swirls the liquid a few times before inhaling its tangy scent.  She suppresses a smirk when she spots Sir Rumpelstiltskin peering at his drink with faint uncertainty.

“Have you had chouchen before?” she asks.

“I’ve not, my lady, no.”

“It’s a specialty of Collioure, made with honey from our own bees.”  Belle will be forever grateful that the hives are kept on the sea-side of the village and well within the wall.  She makes a mental note to visit them and ensure their keepers have all the supplies they need.  Production has of course slowed with the siege, but losing their chouchen permanently could drive the population to despair.

Brevet holds up his goblet, “A toast to our brave archers, and to Sir Rumpelstiltskin for training them.”

The knight smiles and nods, then holds up his own goblet, “And to you, captain, for being the one on the wall leading them.”  Goblet still raised, he turns to Belle, “And to Lady Belle, for making it all possible.”

She blinks in surprise, then manages a smile and raises her goblet to them both before taking a sip, adding the chouchen’s warmth to the heat in her cheeks.  She wishes Sir Rumpelstiltskin would stop surprising her like this.  Waiting for his geniality to falter again is tiresome.

The knight turns to Brevet, “So, you saw the archers in action, do you have any comments?”

Brevet considers the question before replying, “Stress the importance of focus.  They can’t break their rhythm to celebrate every victory.  Otherwise... continue the night drills.  Keep improving accuracy and stamina.  I believe we’ll have a fine squadron in a short while, wouldn’t you say, my lady?”

Belle nods.  “Naturally they were excited for their first kill, but the captain is right.  Perhaps more might have fallen if our archers hadn’t broken ranks.”

“Understood,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin says, “And now that the first kill has been achieved, we’ll need to concern ourselves with the disposal of the body.  Soldiers should also reclaim as many unbroken arrows from the field as possible, for the sake of the carpenters.”

“Yes,” Belle responds, “As long as the woods stay quiet, we’ll have the body burned tomorrow.”  She pauses, then sighs, “Of course it had to fall on the library...”

“I suppose they’ll have to drag it out into the open first,” Brevet remarks.

“While that’s done,” Belle says even before her thought has fully formed.  At Brevet and Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s expectant looks, she continues, “I just... Perhaps Lady Colette’s body could be retrieved as well.  My mother has gone far too long without a proper burial.”

Grief casts a shadow over Brevet’s face.  “Yes, that is...  It must be done.  It’s been too long.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin gives a solemn nod.  “I’m certain that can be accomplished, my lady.”

“I want to find her myself.”  Both men’s downcast gazes jump to Belle.  Their mouths open to spout the obvious protests, but she doesn’t let them.  “It’s my duty.  I must say goodbye, as I did for my father.  You know it’s true, captain, or shall I call Cleric Victurnien to remind you?”

Collioure doesn’t have many funeral rites, but an important one is a person’s death be witnessed chiefly by a family member.  If that’s not possible in the moment, the body must be brought to a family member or vice versa as soon as possible.  Then it can be buried and the person’s soul laid to rest.  Colette’s unfulfilled rites have been a chain on Belle’s heart.

“I understand, my lady,” Brevet says, “But, it will be... difficult.”

Belle lifts an eyebrow.  “Really?  I thought it’d be like skipping through a field of flowers.  It’s been decided, captain.  As you said, it must be done, no matter how difficult.  And I can’t think of a better time to do it than while our soldiers are already outside the wall burning the ogre’s corpse.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin, you’ll send the archers to the wall under the captain’s command again?”

“Of course.  Also, perhaps...”

“Perhaps what?”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin straightens his spine and says, “Perhaps I might accompany you, to help however I can.”

“I must do it myself,” Belle responds firmly.

“Yes, and you will,” he states, “But, depending on the body’s condition...  You will most likely need help.”

Belle presses her lips against another protest and forces herself to think.  Since even the idea of seeing her mother’s corpse turns her stomach, solemn duty or not, she recognizes the need to have someone there without a deep bond to Colette.  Someone who can handle the gory practicalities of moving a body that’s lied untouched for most of a year.  And in this moment there isn’t anyone more suitable.  She gives him a nod, “Very well.  Thank you.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin says just before his whole face twitches, “Uh, that is to say, it _isn’t_ , of course.  It-it’s an honor, I meant.  Will be.  My lady.”

His verbal flailing draws a tiny laugh from Belle.  She covers it by raising her goblet to Sir Rumpelstiltskin and taking a sip along with him.

Brevet coughs, causing Belle to flinch slightly.  For a large man he can be inconspicuous at times.  He drains his goblet and says, “Suppose I’ll retire then.  In the morning I’ll choose the soldiers who’ll deal with the ogre and collect arrows.  And I’ll assign someone to watch for any reports from the scouts, just in case.  Good evening, Sir Rumpel, my lady.”

Belle hardly has time to return his parting words before he’s gone, leaving just her and Sir Rumpelstiltskin in the sitting room.  She curses Brevet though of course he can’t know the true reason she doesn’t want to be alone with a knight.  If her parents were alive the strictures of propriety would forbid this out of hand.  But she is the governor of Collioure now, not a delicate young lady concerned with nothing but her spotless reputation.  She decides what is proper and what isn’t.  And she will not be made to cower and cringe in her own castle.

With great effort, Belle relaxes taut muscles until she can cross her legs and lean casually against the arm of the sofa.  “Will you have a seat, Sir Rumpelstiltskin?” she offers, waving a hand toward the chair nearest to her.

He’s been standing before a window that looks out over the wall.  Now he smiles awkwardly and steps closer.  His foot catches on the chair’s leg as he turns to sit, causing him to stumble and spill a few drops from his goblet.

“Is the chouchen agreeing with you?” Belle inquires, watching the display with mostly real amusement.

“I’m not- I mean, it is, yes.  Very pleasant.”  He proceeds to hold the goblet between his knees a full arm’s length from his mouth.

Belle chooses to take pity on him, saying, “I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to celebrate tonight.  You worked hard training our archers and building those traps, with definite results.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin wags his head slightly.  “Yes, well, drinking myself into a stupor isn’t my idea of a celebration.”

“Nor mine,” Belle replies.  “But it’s still to your credit, bothering to teach my people how to defend themselves when you could’ve ridden out and used your light magic to solve the problem.”

He winces, head now shaking.  “I couldn’t do that, no.”

“Why not?” Belle asks with genuine curiosity stirring.

“It doesn’t work like that, the magic.  I can’t just throw it out whenever I choose.”

“You don’t control it?”

His eyes widen as he shakes his head again, more emphatically.  “No, never.  It comes to me on its own.  Always has.”  He glances at Belle with too many emotions flitting across his face for her to read.  “The very first time, during the Ogre Wars in the Frontlands, I didn’t even understand what’d happened.  I was so afraid- foot soldiers like me were getting slaughtered daily.  I even heard our duke was consulting a seer to find some way to claim a single victory.  I felt brave enough when I got my conscription notice, but when I came to the battlefield...  I swear that ogre was big as a mountain.  But just as it was about to attack...  Something found me.  Grabbed my hand and held it in the air.  And then the ogre fell.  Everyone said I’d done magic, but I knew...  It wasn’t me.  I don’t know what it was, or is, but I’m certain I could reach for it one day and find nothing.”

Belle can only stare at him for a moment.  “That sounds... terrifying.”

He shrugs a shoulder.  “And so I’ve learned other skills.  I’ll not leave anyone to rely on magic to save them, especially not myself.  Someday it might call in my debt.”

“Right,” Belle says, as if she understands even a fraction of what Sir Rumpelstiltskin has described.  “And, before all this, you were an ordinary man?”

His lips curve into a wistful, rueful smile.  “Utterly unremarkable, my lady.  A humble spinner living in a hovel with his wife.  Simpler times.”

He’s married.  Belle’s not sure why that surprises her- why it registers in her mind at all.  It’s not of any importance.  She raises her goblet to him once more, “To simpler times, may they return soon.”

He echoes her, though his smile falls before he takes a sip.

Belle finishes her chouchen and sets the goblet aside.  “I suppose we should get some rest.  Tomorrow is likely to be a long day.”

“Indeed.  Good evening, my lady.”

They rise together, exchanging a bow and curtsey before leaving the sitting room.  While drifting off to sleep in her bed, Belle’s mind conjures an image of the spinner Rumpelstiltskin and his loving wife, living happily together, untouched by the horrors of war or magic.


	15. Chapter 15

Brevet leans his head into the office and says, “My lady, if it’s to happen today, it must happen now.”

“Well, what does the watch say?” Belle asks, barely glancing up from the reports on her desk.

“All has been quiet since noon.”

Watchers spotted slight movement in the forest at that time- not conclusively ogres, but worrisome enough to postpone their plans.  “Are the archers on the wall?”

“For the last _hour_ , my lady.”

Belle shoots a sharp look at Brevet’s impatient tone.  “Captain, are you so eager to put the lives of your soldiers, Sir Rumpelstiltskin, and myself in danger, that we should cast aside caution and race out into the ruins without a second glance?”

“Of course not, my lady,” Brevet replies, shuffling his feet a bit but not looking or sounding as penitent as Belle would like.  She rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the parchment before her.  “It’s just... if you’re hesitant to go find Lady Colette’s body, it’s understandable.  That’s all.”

Belle’s stomach clenches with a horrible mix of shame and grief and fear.  She shoves it all down and says with ice in her voice, “There is a reason it’s not been done before now, captain, as you well know.  It’s not safe.  Even without the possibility of an attack, the building is unstable.  That’s as true now as it’s ever been.”  She lays her palms on top of the desk and pushes herself back.  “But I will do my duty.  My mother will be laid to rest today.”

Brevet returns her steely gaze with a nod.  “I will go to the wall then.  I believe Sir Rumpelstiltskin and Cleric Victurnien are already waiting at the gate with the soldiers.”

“Fine.” 

He steps away from the office and Belle follows, trying not to feel self-conscious in the rarely-worn breeches she chose for their mobility this morning.  At the wall Brevet climbs the rope ladder and she heads for the gate.  She spots eight soldiers there carrying lit torches and a rope.  She also finds Sir Rumpelstiltskin holding a white bedsheet wrapped over folded arms and Victurnien looking pale and grave as he approaches her.

“May Ulthar guide you in your task, so that our sister Colette may join the resting dead in his care.”  He sets his left hand on Belle’s head, his thumb pressing into her brow signaling her to take a deep breath in unison with him.

“Thank you,” Belle murmurs, drawing what calm resolve she can from the prayer.  He lets go and steps back and she turns her attention to the soldiers.  “All of you understand what you are to do?”

They answer with a quiet chorus of “Yes, my lady.”

Belle nods, then moves to Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s side.  He leans close and murmurs, “If you need to stop and return here at any time, just say so.”

Part of Belle bristles at his insinuation that she would abandon her duty, but considering the cold flip-flops her stomach is doing, she simply nods again with a dry swallow.  “Open the gate,” she tells a soldier.

He shifts the boards aside, allowing them to move into the ruins.  As before, even the air feels different to Belle, somehow thinned by echoes of violence and loss.  As three soldiers begin combing the area for unbroken arrows she regrets letting herself procrastinate for as long as she did today.  Evening is closing in, limiting visibility and increasing the chance of an attack.  But the forest has been quiet, Belle reminds herself.  And the archers are on the wall, hungry for another victory.  She focuses on her own mission as she stops at the ruined library and the huge corpse that’s smashed into it.

The remaining soldiers lash ropes to the ogre’s arms and arrange themselves to haul it out.  “One!  Two!  Three!  Pull!” shouts their leader, and the tugging begins.  The corpse hardly budges at first and Belle has a terrible vision of it lying there rotting until the king’s army comes.  But after a third attempt, it shifts a few feet, and Belle winces at the crack of charred boards and the crunch of plaster as it goes.  More tugs get it nearly free, except for one leg still stuck in Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s trap.  When he notices the problem, he passes the white sheet to Belle and jogs around to the limb, yanking out jagged pieces of wood until there’s space enough for it to move.  One more tug drags the corpse out into the road, leaving Belle to stand before the gaping hole in the face of the library, peering into the shadows within, frozen on the spot.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin returns to her side with a lit torch.  He lays his free hand on her back.  She gives him a look that’s filled with things she doesn’t even have words for, and yet he seems to understand.  His hand moves, rubbing the slightest bit of warmth into her skin.  Belle passes the sheet back, walks forward, and begins to climb into the library.

She tests every spot she intends to set her foot by pressing the toe of her boot into it.  Anywhere that gives at all is discarded.  It’s a painstaking process, but better by far than falling into the burnt-out rubble below.  Belle does her best to see only the shell around her, not mentally rebuild the bookcases and walls and windows any more than what allows her to search.  Where would Colette have hidden in those final moments?  Did she hide at all, or simply stand in the face of death and let it take her?

Sir Rumpelstiltskin follows close behind, lighting the path ahead with his torch.  The air is stale and dry and still carries a hint of acrid smoke, unless that’s Belle’s imagination.  Blackened wood and shadows make it difficult to identify separate objects, let alone discern anything that looks like a body.  Long minutes pass, and they venture deeper into the structure without finding any sign of where Colette lies.  Belle tests a board that bends slightly but seems stable.  However, as she moves onto it the wood splinters and she tilts.  She flings out a hand and grabs Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s forearm at the last second.  He pulls hard and she surges back up, momentum carrying her into his arms.

Dark eyes as wide as her own fill her vision.  Soft quick breaths drift across her face.  She can feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin swallows, and blinks.  “All right?”

Belle can only manage a tiny nod and a faint hum of affirmation.

He shuffles backward to the last safe place to stand and lets Belle go.  “I’m surprised we’ve not seen anything yet,” he remarks, scratching at the back of his head.

“She must be here.  We have to keep looking.”

“Of course, we-”

Shouts from outside interrupt him.  They turn to the entrance in equal puzzlement, until the watch’s trumpets blast and two loud bellows stop Belle’s heart.

“No,” she breathes, and starts running for the entrance.

“Belle, wait!” Rumpelstiltskin shouts, but she can’t.  She has to see, has to help, has to do _something_.

Somehow she makes it to the entrance without hitting a weak board, and she leans out of it to see an ogre looming over the soldiers who were burning the body.  Arrows rain down on it though they don’t seem to be causing much injury.  Belle looks around her and grabs a piece of rubble to hurl in the ogre’s direction, but her aim is wide and it tumbles harmlessly over the dirt.

“Damn!” she barks and begins hunting for another projectile.

“Belle, look out!” Rumpelstiltskin’s hand clamps on her shoulder and yanks her backwards just as a giant fist crashes down on where she was standing.  Belle stares into the roaring maw of a second ogre as Rumpelstiltskin continues to pull her into the library, swinging the torch as they go.  Its light catches Belle’s eye, and a cold clarity comes to her.  Something in this place might still burn.  She can be brave.  She can save Collioure, just like her mother did.  And then they’ll be together, here, in the library.  Their favorite place.

She grabs the torch from Rumpelstiltskin and begins a new hunt for a bit of wood that isn’t entirely charred.

“Belle, what are you doing?  We need to go!”

“ _You_ need to go,” Belle corrects him, “Run, hide somewhere.  I can do this.”  She’s already found some leaves that got blown in by the wind.  She lights them and starts searching for birds’ nests.

“Belle, _please_ come with me.  We can-”

This area must have escaped the original blaze somehow, but its luck runs out as Belle scrapes the torch flame along the floor.  Fire eats into the dry wood and the air is soon hazy with smoke.  Belle breathes it in, wondering if she could slip gently into unconsciousness before a less pleasant end finds her.  She coughs hard and she lets her legs fold as her head spins.

Someone’s still tugging on her.  Rumpelstiltskin.  No, he can’t be here.  She has to save him.  Save everyone.  She tries to push him away.  Tries to tell him again to run and hide.  But then the walls are coming down and something huge is moving above them.

There is a flash of white light, a flare of pain, then nothing.


	16. Chapter 16

“Belle, wake up.  Please, open your eyes.”

Cool air swirls around where she lies on a hard surface that’s cooler still.  A hand touches her cheek and she leans into its warmth.  The movement sends pain radiating out from her temple.  She lets out a small groan.

“Oh, thank the gods,” someone leaning over her gasps, “Belle, wake up, look at me.”

Her eyes crack open slowly, and she finds Rumpelstiltskin not looking back at her, but at something else past her.  It’s difficult to tell from this angle, but she suspects his face is filled with fear.  Something moves in the dark beyond the place where she lies.

“ _Psst_.”

Belle and Rumpelstiltskin startle and look to the side.  Belle realizes they’re in a cave, and to her right is a crevice in which a person crouches and gestures sharply for them to come closer.

“Right,” Rumpelstiltskin murmurs, “Up.  Quietly now, but hurry.  Come on.”  He moves behind Belle and hooks his arms under hers, hoisting her up on legs that aren’t interested at all in carrying her full weight.  She manages to crab-walk along while he leads her toward the crevice.  As they climb inside, she watches large shapes lumber in the dark of the cavern.

“In here, follow me,” says a reedy whisper.

Rumpelstiltskin continues to pull Belle deeper where the crevice narrows then widens again and the air smells of sweetly metallic cave moss, unless that’s just the misfirings of Belle’s confused brain.

“Good, here, stop,” says the whisper, “They didn’t scent you, I don’t think.”

Rumpelstiltskin lowers Belle onto a new cold hard surface.  Her vision swims and she moans and touches her palm to the left side of her head, only to flinch away from fresh pain and sticky wetness on her scalp.  “Rumpel, what happened?  Where are we?”

“Lie still, Belle.  You’ll be all right.”

A skittering sound has Belle peering upwards behind her.  “Who is that?”

Their savior is a woman, she thinks, though it’s impossible to see any detail as the only light comes from a spray of stars where the crevice opens up overhead.  She wears faded men’s traveling clothes that hang off her spindly body as she creeps closer.  “Belle...” the woman murmurs, reaching out a thin hand.

Belle almost wants to move away, tell this strange creature not to touch her, but some starlight catches on her cheekbones, glints in her wide eyes, and shimmers on a diamond that hangs from a simple gold chain around her neck.  Slowly, staring fixedly at the woman, not daring to breathe, Belle sits up.  Her own trembling hand reaches out, and she waits for this phantom to vanish until the instant she touches her arm.  Just before her throat seizes up entirely, she says, “Mother?”

Colette’s arms fly out and band around Belle, crushing her in a desperate embrace that smells intensely of cave moss.  Colette weeps in jagged gasps as she grips at Belle’s shoulders and back.  Belle grips her just as hard, eyes burning and heart racing.  For a wild moment she wonders if she and Rumpelstiltskin died in the library and have found Colette in a bizarre underworld.  For the sake of her own sanity she has to pull away and ask, “What are you doing here?  How did you get here?  Gods, I thought you were dead!”

Colette touches Belle’s cheeks like a blind woman memorizing the shape of her face.  “Oh- oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.  It- it was the ogres.  When they attacked the library, they took me.  Carried me here, to... to feed to their young.  But, I woke up when they dropped me, and I saw this place, so as soon as I could, I ran for it.  And, you see?  See?  I was right.  We’re safe.”

“You’ve been alive all this time?  Trapped here?”  Belle’s mind is reeling.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t escape.  One of the adults is always around.  And even the young ones can kill without trying.  And I couldn’t climb, up there.”  She nods to the opening far above them.  “I... I thought I’d wait.  Surely the army would come, that’s- that’s what I thought.”

And indeed they might have, months ago, if Gaston had done his duty.  All Belle can do is wrap her arms around Colette again and breathe apologies into her tightly braided hair.

At some point, Colette goes stiff in Belle’s grasp, her attention focusing on the channel that leads back into the main cavern.  Seconds later they hear the stomping, snuffling, growling sound of the horde returning to their nest.

From where he sits on a small ledge of stone, Rumpelstiltskin mutters, “I wonder how many live here.”

“That’s five coming back,” Colette immediately replies.  She listens for a moment, and says, “No, six.  Hobblefoot’s just arrived.”

“And none of them have tried to get into this place?” he asks her.

She looks at him, and grins.  “They’ve tried, but they can’t.”

“Too narrow?  They have long arms, and I’ve seen them use a branch once or twice.”

“Better than that.  It’s the moss.  It’s all over this part of the cave, and they can’t stand it.  Once I threw a rock at them I’d picked up here, and later on I saw a young one sharpening its teeth on it.  That’s the only time I’ve ever seen an ogre be sick.  They know to stay away now.”  Her grin fades and she arranges herself in a more ladylike pose before asking, “And, ah, may I ask who you are, sir?”

“Oh, gods!” Belle exclaims, “Mother, this is Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  The king sent him to... sent him to help Collioure, until the army can come.”

He stands and bows.  “It’s a very great honor to meet you, Lady Colette, as well as an incredible surprise.  As B- Lady Belle said, we didn’t believe you survived.”

Colette ducks her head and shrugs.  “I don’t blame you for thinking so.  I could hardly believe it myself.  And then when I kept on living...  How- how long has it been?  Perhaps I don’t want to know...”

Belle wraps an arm around her mother’s frail shoulders, resting her head against Colette’s.  “It’s been several months.  Nearly a year.”

“Gods...” Colette breathes, air coming in small shaky pants through her mouth.

Rumpelstiltskin steps forward and crouches in front of them.  “We’re going to get out of here, my lady.  I promise.  You’ll be home again soon.”

“How?” Colette replies, “I already told you the cave entrance is always guarded.  It only takes one to catch you.”

Belle squeezes her shoulders.  “We’ll think of something.  But for now, it might be a good idea to rest.  Build up our strength.  What do you say, Mother?”

“Very well.  You’re likely right.  I am- rather tired.  This way, you two.  I’ll show you to the lord’s chambers.”  She climbs to her feet and leads them further into the crevice to a spot that’s a little wider and covered with a man’s torn leather cloak.  “I’m afraid my skills as a hostess have gotten rusty.  Anyway, there isn’t much call for etiquette when one is hiding from an ogre horde.  At least we’ll be warmer tonight than we might have been, eh?”

With that, she lies down on the far right side, tucking her body against the stone so close she almost looks like nothing more than a wrinkle of rock.

After a few seconds she lifts her head to say, “Settle in then, dearies.  Oh, if nature calls or you’d just like a drink, walk in a little further until you come to the spring.  I might actually miss that- the water is wonderfully clean here.  Good night.”

Her head lowers again, and she lies still.  Belle and Rumpelstiltskin exchange glances of bewilderment and discomfort.  Eventually he gestures at the remaining space on the cloak.  “Please, my lady.”

For lack of anything else to do, Belle gingerly lowers herself next to her mother.  She rests her cheek on Colette’s back because she will not allow even an inch of space to come between them again.  She waits in perfect rigidity for the last sliver of the cloak to be occupied.  However, that doesn’t happen.  She looks up when she hears Rumpelstiltskin sit and watches him lean with hunched shoulders against the wall facing in the direction of the main cavern.

“Rumpel, what are you doing?” Belle hisses.

He tilts his head far enough to reply.  “Resting.  Go to sleep.”

“It’s too cold for you to sit there on your own.  Come here, now.”

He hesitates, but Belle knows he’s aware of the changeable nature of a Marshlands’ spring.  Balmy days can turn frigid in a blink, and winter’s grip lingers in places just like this.  She lies back down and listens while Rumpelstiltskin levers himself up, pads to the cloak, then squeezes in between the wall and Belle’s back, facing the former.  For her part, she’s by far more grateful for his warmth than concerned about propriety.

“Good night, Rumpel,” she whispers.

He sighs and she feels some tension seep out of his body.  “Good night, Belle.”

She shuts her eyes and lets the rise and fall of her mother’s impossible, beautiful breathing carry her off to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

In the early hours, with their ragged slice of sky only a few shades lighter than full dark, Belle wakes to discover that she’s rolled over in her sleep.  Her face is all but buried in Rumpelstiltskin’s hair, and she’s even molded her lower half to his and wrapped an arm around his chest.  Far from shrugging her off, it seems in sleep he became greedy for any extra warmth.  Her arm is pinned in place by his, and their hands tangle together just under his chin.

He’s not a large man, Belle finds herself thinking instead of yanking her arm free and whipping around and pretending they never ever touched.  People who hear tales of the Light One probably picture a walking mountain, not this compact figure.  She doubts many knights have hair as long as his too.  Not that she’ll complain about its smooth softness brushing against her cheeks.  Shame about the smell of dust and cave moss and smoke that clings to it.  She wonders what it’s like after a bath.

Certainly his wife knows, Belle reminds herself sharply before slipping her arm free and turning back to Colette. She’s about to settle down again when she hears a faint whimper and sees her mother’s face screwed up into a pained grimace.  “N-no...” Colette mutters almost silently.

Belle takes hold of her shoulder and gently shakes it.  “Mother, wake up,” she whispers, “It’s just a dream.”

Colette’s eyes flutter open and slowly fix on Belle.  Then anguish fills her face.  “Oh no...  Oh, Belle, my baby...”

Belle’s throat instantly tightens but she forces herself to speak, “It’s going to be all right.  We’re leaving here today, together.  All of us.”

Colette’s expression remains mostly desolate, but she calms.  “I do hope so, sweetheart.”

Belle twists her mouth into a smile before settling down again in Colette’s arms.

“I can’t decide if it feels like it’s been days or years,” Colette remarks dreamily, running a hand over Belle’s hair, “Seems to change all the time.  I suppose everything is different at home.”

Lead drops into Belle’s stomach as the biggest change rears up in her mind.  Maurice.  Belle is no longer an orphan, but Colette is a widow and doesn’t even know it.  Telling herself they need to focus on their escape, Belle succumbs to cowardice and says, “Not everything.  We left one or two rooms the same.”

Colette’s light chuckle is like gold.  “Silly thing.”

Belle manages to doze for a little while longer, until sunshine touches the edge of the opening overhead.  Rumpelstiltskin climbs to his feet and wanders deeper into the crevice.  Curiosity about the spring Colette mentioned pricks at Belle, but she decides any privacy Rumpelstiltskin can achieve here should be respected.

She sits up, and a gasp bursts from her as she sees Colette in daylight.  Her hair is braided back against her head and her skin is stained a strange gray-green-brown.  Colette touches at her cheek self-consciously.  “I know I must look frightful, dear.  It’s the cave moss.  I thought if I smeared enough into my skin and clothes, I could escape without being attacked.  I’d not quite mustered the courage to try yet.”

“It might’ve worked,” Belle says with a slight shrug, “It could make them think twice anyway.” She pauses, then says, “You know, this moss grows in the sea cave at home.  As soon as we get back, I’ll tell the soldiers to harvest it and paint the wall.  Perhaps we could protect the whole village.”

A smile spreads across Colette’s face.  “That would be wonderful.”

Belle nods firmly.  “Right, that’s the plan, after we get out of here.  But first...”  Spotting Rumpelstiltskin returning from the far part of the crevice, she stands and they shuffle around each other with pardons awkwardly begged and given.  Belle prays he doesn’t remember her clinging to him last night- an honest man like him might actually confess it to his wife.  She doesn’t need to know about their innocuous attempt to stay warm in a chilly cave.

A little light glints on a spring that flows along the crevice in this section.  Belle swiftly relieves herself, then gets on with rinsing her mouth and washing her face and the small wound in her scalp.  Colette was right- the water is refreshingly clear and cold.  Even with the enchantment there’s a hint of salt about Collioure’s water.  When she emerges, she finds Rumpelstiltskin sitting with Colette wiping moss on his cheeks.

“It can’t hurt, eh?” he quips to Belle before scooting over and nodding at the space beside him, “Here, sit, get some for yourself.”

Colette offers her a plate-sized sheet of rock that holds a paste made of crushed moss and water.  Belle prepares herself to smell nothing but metallic sweetness for the rest of the day, then scoops up the paste and rubs it all over her face.  More goes on her neck and upper chest.

When every last bit of the moss is scraped off the rock, Colette sets it aside and says, “All right, are we going to try sneaking out of the cave while the horde sleeps?  I should warn you they wake easily.”

“I don’t think that’s the way to go,” Rumpelstiltskin replies.  His gaze has wandered up to the hole at the top of the crevice.  “How high is that, do you reckon?”

Belle eyes it herself and says, “Very high.  What’ve you got in mind?”

“I think...  If we went to the narrowest part, and I leaned against one side, and you leaned against the other side and set your feet on my shoulders, and Colette climbed up the two of us...  She could reach the top, and climb out.  Then pull you up.”

Belle blinks in disbelief.  “What do you think we are, acrobats?  And what about you?  That would leave you trapped just like Mother was.”

He wags his head, “Yes, well, I have an advantage Colette doesn’t have.”

Colette furrows her brow.  “What do you mean?”

“He has light magic,” Belle answers for him, “Though, that’s not entirely accurate, is it?”

“It won’t desert me today,” Rumpelstiltskin states.

Belle waves a hand.  “I’ve no idea how you’d know that, but regardless, I don’t see this going well.”

“Why not?” Colette inquires.

“It’s too risky.  If the acrobatics go wrong, one or more of us could be seriously hurt, and then what would we do?  And honesty, Mother, do you think you could do it, in your state of health?  And even if you did, afterwards we would have to walk back to Collioure, and we can’t even be certain how far that is.”

“I’d guess around ten miles,” Rumpelstiltskin offers.

Belle turns to him, “What makes you say that?”

“I pretended to be unconscious when the ogres grabbed us.  I know how fast an ogre moves, and I know how long they carried us.  I think we’re twelve miles out at most.  To the northeast.  A long walk, but not impossible.”

“ _If_ none of us are injured,” Belle reminds him, “Which precludes Mother and I successfully climbing out of this hole and you fighting your way through a cave full of ogres.”

“Sleepy ogres,” he counters.

“Sleepy ogres,” Belle concedes glibly.  “It’s a very entertaining plan, but we need to think of something else.  Once we-”

“Belle.”

She stops and focuses on Colette, who sits with her arms tightly crossed over her stomach, gaze on the ground.  “Yes, Mother?”

Her gaze lifts, bright and sharp.  “I like this plan.  I want to do it.”

Belle stares at her.  “Are you serious?  Mother, it’s not safe, if-”

“If a safe plan existed, I would’ve done it already.  Of course this will be- taxing, but it’s been decided.  I am leaving this cave today, whether on my feet or in the arms of Ulthar.”

Belle’s heart clenches at the idea of losing her mother just hours after regaining her.  But she has to admit Colette is right.  There is no safe way to escape a horde of ogres.  At least climbing through the crevice affords them a short span to recover their energy, before Rumpelstiltskin comes running out with the horde on his heels.  _Assuming he survives_ \- Belle’s heart clenches all over again.  She sighs, “All right.  I suppose I’m outvoted two to one.  But I want to be as prepared as we can be first.”

They split Colette’s meager stash of nuts and berries that have fallen into the crevice.  “An empty stomach is a far greater threat than ogres,” she says by way of an apology as she shares out worms they all chew and swallow as quickly as possible.  They wash out the taste with long drinks from the spring before Colette produces a waterskin that she fills and gives to Belle.

“Colette,” Rumpelstiltskin says, “Why don’t you rest here while Belle and I practice scaling the wall?”

“Very well.  But we shouldn’t delay much longer.  They’ll be slipping into their deepest sleep soon.”

“Of course.”  After she retreats into the shadowed part of the crevice, Rumpelstiltskin and Belle walk to the area where the walls of the crevice lean close.  “Right, so, this won’t be difficult.  The walls will do most of the work.”  He crouches down with his back against one side.  “Try putting your feet on my shoulders.”

“All right,” Belle replies with every doubt in the world.  She puts down the waterskin and presses her back into the opposite side of the crevice, then carefully places one foot on Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder.  With a quick breath, she lifts herself so she can set the other foot on his other shoulder, and hang in the air wedged between him and the wall.  Rumpelstiltskin wraps his hands around her ankles to secure her.

“Good, like that.  Now, I’ll start to stand, slowly.  Push yourself up the wall with me, and we’ll see how high we can go.  If it’s not high enough, we’ll think of something else.”

With Rumpelstiltskin’s earnest face framed by her feet, listening to what he’s saying is slightly difficult. But she soon works out the details as he rises and she hurries to shimmy up the wall, higher and higher, until she reaches near their combined height and midmorning sunshine washes over her face.

“How’s it look up there, Belle?”

She examines the space, imagines Colette searching for ways to haul herself up the remaining feet.  “Uh, I see roots here, and some rocks that seem sturdy.”

“Sturdy enough?”

Though vertiginous fear shivers in her muscles, Belle dares to reach out and tug at some of the rocks and roots.  They don’t give way.  “Yes,” she says, “I think so.”

“Good, because you’ll be following right after her.”

Yes, she’d forgotten that.  “Let me down, please.” 

Rumpelstiltskin lowers himself as gradually as he rose, letting Belle scoot along until she can put her feet back on the ground.  He stands and flexes his shoulders for a moment.  “Belle...” he murmurs, voice low and quiet, meant only for her.  
  
“Yes?”

“If I don’t make it out-”

“You will.”  She can’t make room in her mind for any other reality.

“That is certainly the plan, but plans don’t always work out the way you’d like.”  He catches hold of her hand.  His gaze finds hers and she sees fear and grief lurking in it.  “So, just in case, I wanted you to know that I, ah...  I’m so glad I met you.  I wish we’d had more time.”

“Stop.  Don’t- don’t talk like you’re already...”  Her throat closes on the word.  She squeezes his hand.  “We’ll be fine.  We’ll all be fine.  We’re going home today.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiles softly and whispers, “Home.  Yes.”

“I should wake Mother.  It’s time for us to leave.”  Belle steps away, letting her hand slip from his.  Her feet carry her backwards a step or two as she watches Rumpelstiltskin’s smile still fixed on her.  As she turns and walks away, she wonders why he didn’t give her a message for his wife.


	18. Chapter 18

Belle walks to the dark part of the crevice where the spring flows and finds Colette sitting with a small collection of objects laid out on the ground in front of her.  She identifies a button, a glove, and a scrap of fabric before Colette scoops them up and tucks them into a pocket.  Before Belle can ask what they are, she says, “Is it time?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  She stands and brushes her hands down her front briskly.  “I’m ready.”

Belle leads her to the narrow spot Rumpelstiltskin chose for their escape point.  He waits there for them, reaching out to squeeze Colette’s arm before setting his back against the wall and crouching down.  Belle hooks the strap of the waterskin over her shoulder and takes her position opposite Rumpelstiltskin.  Once again she sets a foot on his shoulder and hops to set the other in place and begin inching her way up the wall.  Colette watches with anxious hope as her living ladder rises nearly to the opening above.

“That’s as far as we’ll go,” Rumpelstiltskin says, coming to a stop with his legs still bent enough to give Colette a good starting point.  “Do you feel stable, Belle?”

She presses hard into the stone with her head, back, hips, arms, palms, and fingers, imagining herself merging with it to give her mother as much safety as possible.  “I’m good.”

“Right.  Up you go then, my lady.  Once you’re out, as soon as you’re able, help Belle to climb after you.  And when you’re both ready, head southeast.  Don’t wait for me.”

Colette lays a hand over his where it grips Belle’s ankle.  “You are a hero, Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  No matter what happens, I thank you for giving me this chance at freedom.”

He nods slightly.  “Your servant, my lady.”

With that, Colette’s hand moves to his shoulder and her foot steps onto his thigh, and she pulls herself up.  Though she’s taller than Belle, her diminished frame can’t weigh much more, and Belle feels mostly secure with the wall at her back and Rumpelstiltskin planted beneath her.  She keeps her eyes screwed shut as Colette scales her body, unable to look in case the worst happens.  But her mother continues to rise, her hand leaving Belle’s shoulder and her foot stepping onto Belle’s thigh.  Belle stops breathing when the weight disappears and she can only listen to Colette grunt and strain to pull herself out of the hole.

She hears one last scrabbling of feet on stone, then a faint gasp.  “Th-there,” Colette calls breathlessly, “I’m out!”

A laugh of relief bursts from Belle.  She opens her eyes and peers up to see Colette’s head and shoulders at the edge.  “Are you all right?”

“A bit winded.  Give me a moment, would you, dear?”

“Yes.”  Belle looks down at Rumpelstiltskin’s grinning face between her feet.  “She’s free,” Belle informs him needlessly, but it’s all her mind can focus on.

“She’s going home,” he replies warmly.  “Now, I think I’ll stand up higher and walk forward, close as  much distance as I can between you and the top.  But, before that, you might try turning yourself around.  It’ll be easier to climb that way.”

This wasn’t part of their original plans, and Belle’s nerves twang, but she takes a deep breath and nods.  For just a moment, she wishes Rumpelstiltskin was as tall and broad as Gaston, as she wedges the toe of her boot between her foot and his neck on one side, lifts her outside foot, and pivots in midair until she faces the wall.  She sets her foot carefully on Rumpelstiltskin’s unoccupied shoulder and he holds both feet in place as she presses her hands firmly into the wall.

“Good?” he asks.

“Moderately,” Belle replies, doing her best not to tremble like an autumn leaf, “Just don’t trip, yeah?”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckles and squeezes her ankles.  “Not today.  Shall I walk forward?”

“Wait.  Mother?  How are you feeling?”

Colette’s head pops over the edge.  “Quite recovered.  Come up, sweetheart.  I think you’ll find the air very pleasant.”

“Walking forward,” Rumpelstiltskin warns Belle before she begins to rise.  She feels her stability diminish with every inch, but focuses on placing her hands one above the other along the wall.

“There’s a little ledge on the right,” Colette says.  Belle lifts her leg, scraping her foot along until she almost can’t raise it any higher.  Then it catches on stone.  “Yes, good, now grab that root and pull up.”

Belle follows Colette’s instructions and hauls herself up.  Then she’s simply grabbing at any root or bit of jutting stone she finds until she passes through the hole.  She all but tumbles onto a wooded, rocky hill where a sweet wind blows and dappled sunlight shimmers through green leaves.

“Yes!  You did wonderfully, darling,” Colette cries, pulling Belle into a tight hug.  For her part, Belle’s just relieved to be reunited with solid ground.

From within the crevice she hears Rumpelstiltskin ask, “All is well?”

Belle and Colette look down at where he stands, small and alone in the darkness.  “I’m fine.  A little tired.”  She gnaws at her lip, and says, “Can’t your magic float you up here or something?”

She can barely see his crooked smile.  “I don’t dare try.  I take what I’m given and don’t ask for more.  You know that.”

Belle rolls her eyes and huffs a frustrated breath out through her nose.  But she nods, “I know.  Don’t do anything foolish in there.”

“Only if you wait for me.  If they give chase, I’ll lead them north, and circle back when I’ve lost them.  That’s the plan.”

Belle wants to protest.  Wants to insist they won’t abandon him.  At least wants to force him to take the waterskin.  Plain logic crushes her grand gestures before she even utters them.  “All right.”

“Farewell, until we meet again.”

Her throat tightens and her heart aches, but she forces out, “Until then, farewell.”

Colette leans a little further over the edge.  “Thank you, Sir Rumpelstiltskin, from the bottom of my heart.”

“It’s an honor, my lady.  Go.”

Colette and Belle stand, and find the sun rising in the east.  They head toward it, hand-in-hand, moving as fast and as silently as possible.  Colette begins panting for breath and lagging a step behind even sooner than Belle feared.  She says nothing, slowing down and hoping her mother finds a pace she can maintain that gets them to Collioure before nightfall.

After some time, an ogre’s bellow drifts over the trees behind them.  They freeze, and Belle desperately prays for Rumpelstiltskin’s safety before hurrying on.

She pushes Colette to sip from the waterskin often and they stop for short breaks whenever she sees a good place to sit.  With Colette’s stained skin it’s difficult to tell if she’s flushed or pallid, but Belle doesn’t like how she trembles or her weak grip.  Belle constantly scans the forest, waiting for a roar or the heavy thuds of a charging ogre.  The wind tortures her as the sway of the trees mimics a hulking shape in the distance.  She never spots the shape she needs to see.

They pause for a long break as the sun crests.  Belle finds a stream to fill the waterskin and comes back to Colette, who sits on a fallen log and leans against a tree, eyes shut as she takes slow even breaths through her mouth.  Belle’s stomach growls and she silences it with another sip of water.  They must reach Collioure today.

When the sun finally picks a direction to set, Belle stands and gently wakes Colette from her doze.  “Let’s keep going.”

For a moment Colette gazes at her.  “If the ogres find us, I want you to swear to leave me behind.”

Belle shakes her head.  “I won’t.  You can’t make me.”

A smile full of love and sorrow spreads across Colette’s face and her head lolls against the tree.  “Always stubborn.  I won’t get you killed along with me.”

“And I won’t lose you a second time.  Now get up.  We’ve still got a long way to go.”  Belle wraps an arm around Colette and boosts her up on her feet.

They keep walking with the sun on their left shoulders.  At one point, Colette murmurs something into her chest.

“What was that, Mother?”

She lifts her head.  “I said I know these woods.  Those rocks, over there.  I played on them as a child, during a hunting trip your grandfather took me on.”  She nods at some weathered boulders protruding from the earth, half-covered in grass.

Belle smiles, “That means we’re close, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.  And there should be a river we can follow.  This way.”  At a quicker pace than she’s used for hours, Colette guides her to a smoothly flowing river that sparks Belle’s memory.

“Yes, of course, this leads right to the farmers’ fields.  Come on, we’re nearly-”

A bellow cuts across her voice and in the horrified silence that follows they hear movement, but not an ogre’s thunderous charge.  “Belle, Colette, run!” Rumpelstiltskin shouts from back in the trees.

They do so as well as they can, Belle leading in a straight line alongside the river.  “Rumpel, this way!” she calls over her shoulder, “The river leads to Collioure!  Follow it!”

They manage a staggering run for a few minutes before Colette sags in Belle’s arms.  “I- I can’t,” she gasps, “I’m sorry...”

But just as they stumble to a halt, Rumpelstiltskin appears and drops to his knees.  “Put her on my back, hurry!”  As Belle guides Colette to loop her arms around his neck, he mutters, “Hoped you’d be further along by now.  This ogre’s a bloody nuisance.  Keeps letting me think I’ve lost it when I haven’t.”

“We can lead it into the ruins.  Spring one of your traps.”

There’s a bright gleam in his eye when it catches Belle’s.  “So we shall.  Colette, are you ready?”

She grunts, and gives Rumpelstiltskin’s thighs a weak kick to spur him on.

He grins and declares, “Onward, to Collioure!”

Belle runs alongside him with a hand on Colette’s back, constantly checking to make sure she doesn’t slip.  Her pounding heart shivers with every roar and crash from their pursuer as it closes the distance between them.  But the trees are thinning, and fresh energy fills Belle’s muscles when the castle’s towers peek through the leaves.

As they burst out onto the fields and approach the ruins, Belle asks, “What’s the closest trap?”

“That house,” Rumpelstiltskin replies between gulps of air, thrusting his chin ahead to the right, “The green roof.  I dug out the stone under it.”

“Got it.  Take Mother to the gate.  I’ll deal with the ogre.”

“Belle, no-!”

She’s already splitting off from him, sprinting for the remarkably undamaged roof that sits amongst a pile of bricks.  When she’s a short distance away she stops and spins around and screams, “Here!  Over here, you godsdamned ogre!  COME GET ME!”

The beast has made the fields, and it pauses to consider its separate targets, head tilting as it listens, nose snuffling at the air.

Belle leaps up and down and kicks at the dirt.  “I’m right here!  Here, you ugly monster!  _Come on!_ ”

It lumbers into a run again, veering in Belle’s direction.

Joy and fear jolt through her and she scrambles backwards toward the trap.  “Come on!  Come on, come on, come on, come on!”  She turns and runs to the left of the trap and waits to hear the ogre crash into it.

Instead, she hears a roar and feels the ground shiver with steps still coming at her.  She glances over her shoulder and can almost smell the ogre’s rank sweat as it gives chase.  Joy dies, leaving only animal terror that has her pelting through the ruins and expecting a massive hand to close around her at any second.  _Rumpel made it to the gate_ , she tells herself, _Mother is safe.  If this is it, that’s enough._

But Rumpelstiltskin isn’t inside the gate.  He’s standing in the middle of the ruins, fists clenched at his sides.  He doesn’t even have a weapon.  “RUN!” Belle screams, but instead he walks forward.

Belle shoots by him, skids to a stop and spins around in time to see him hold up both hands and launch a blaze of white light directly at the charging ogre.  Her eyes slam shut automatically and the backs of her lids are painted an angry red as the world fills with an unearthly hum.  When the light goes out a few seconds later, all is still and silent.

Her vision is seared green when she dares to open her eyes.  She blinks hard and rubs at them until she understands the scene in front of her.  Both Rumpelstiltskin and the ogre lie on the ground, the first on his front, the second on its back.  Most of the ogre is scorched to black bones and leather.  Belle staggers to Rumpelstiltskin, praying she won’t find another corpse.  She drops to her knees beside him and pulls his shoulder to turn him over and into her arms.  His face is slack and pale beneath the smeared moss.

“Rumpel!  Open your eyes.  Oh, _please_ , wake up.  Please look at me.”

Slowly, his brow furrows and his eyes crack open.

A noise that’s almost a moan of relief falls from Belle’s mouth.  “Oh, gods, Rumpel.  Are you all right?”

“... What happened?” he rasps.

“I- I don’t know.  I think it was magic.”

A corner of his mouth twitches up.  “I told you it wouldn’t desert me today.”

“Hell of a way to test it,” she grumbles while her hand strokes his hair.

“Your mother’s with the soldiers, they’ll get her to a healer.”

“Good, I’m glad.  Let’s see to you now.  Come on.  Can you stand?”  She pulls his arm over her shoulders and shifts to let him rise with her.  Turning in the direction of the gate, she finds four soldiers standing there, looking rather lost.  “We’ll come inside now,” she tells them, “You can burn the body.  What’s left of it.”

They part around her as she walks Rumpelstiltskin to the gate.  Brevet meets them with his mouth hanging open.  “What happened out there?” he demands.

Belle pauses, blinking.  “Uh, well, do you mean when we got kidnapped by ogres?  Or when we found my mother alive?  Or when we escaped from the ogres?  Or do you mean when Rumpel fried one to a cinder mid-charge with his light magic?  Specificity is the heart of good communication, captain.”

He tilts his head.  “They all need healers.  Bring the pallets!”

Belle’s too tired to object much to lying down when a bed of clean sheets presents itself.  Her mind goes fuzzy as the bed starts rocking back and forth and white clouds pass over a blue sky above her head.


	19. Chapter 19

Belle wakes in bed in her room, and has the genuine concern that it was all some strange, horrible, wonderful dream.  However, since moving an inch makes pain sing out in every muscle in her body, she must conclude that it all happened.  She nearly died several times in a variety of ways.  And her mother is alive, and safe.  Or, that’s what she hopes.

The door opens silently and Belle looks to see one of Girard’s junior healers padding into the room carrying a pitcher to Belle’s wash basin.  Wetting parched lips with what little moisture is in her mouth, Belle croaks, “Hello?”

The healer flinches and spins around.  “Oh! My lady!  You’re awake, that’s wonderful.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Less than two hours.  Truly, you should sleep longer.  You’re exhausted.”

Belle won’t deny that, but there are more important things than rest.  “May I have a drink please?”

“Of course,” the healer immediately produces a cup and fills it with water from the pitcher.  She comes to the bed and sits on the edge, helping Belle take long sips.  “There, very good, my lady.  We’ll have biscuits for you soon.”

Belle can’t even say if she’s hungry or not, but she should probably eat something.  “All right.  How is my mother?  H-how is Sir Rumpelstiltskin?”

“They’re still sleeping.  Lady Colette may be some time in bed.  She is quite malnourished.  Given that Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s trauma was partly caused by his magic, we are... less sure how long he’ll be recovering.  But neither of them seem to be in any distress.  Just tired, and in need of care.”

Belle lets herself lie back.  “That’s fine.  Thank you.”

“Sleep, my lady.  I’ll bring you more water and biscuits soon.”

“All right.”  Belle can already feel her body relaxing, welcoming rest.  She drifts on a dark sea, vaguely aware of the healer coming and going.

Nothing less than the smell of freshly baked biscuits sitting on a plate by the bed could pull her to full consciousness again.  She eats four in a row and downs another two cups of water.  After limping to her privy and back like an old woman, she sits on her bed and makes an attempt to feel normal.  She knows she won’t succeed until her muscles stop yowling in pain, but at least she can keep her eyes open now.  Someone’s removed her jerkin and boots, leaving her in the somewhat grimy shirt and breeches.  Suddenly aching for familiarity, she totters to her wardrobe and grabs her softest undergarments and plainest dress.

Then she goes to the stand that holds her cloak.  Here, she pauses.  Her eyes dart to the window- the sunshine has turned golden, undeniable proof of longer, warmer days.  It’s not the most practical thing, her heavy cloak.  Perhaps she’ll leave it off, at least until evening.

She steps out of her chambers to find the healer sitting in a chair with a book.  She turns to Belle and her eyebrows jump, “Hello, my lady.  Are you feeling well?  Did you eat?”

“Yes, and drank, thank you.  How are my mother and Sir Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Lady Colette is still asleep, but I believe Sir Rumpelstiltskin woke and has given an account of your- experience.”

“All right.  I want to meet with my council.  Can you pass the word that I’ll be expecting them in the governor’s office?”

“I will, but you should-”

“I’ll go to bed straight after.  I promise,” Belle soothes her professional worry with a humble smile.

“Very well.  But take some water with you.”

Without another word Belle steps back inside her chambers and pours another cup, saluting the healer with it on her way out and down the hall.  Once she sees the healer has gone, Belle slows her smooth stride to a trundle that’s much easier on her abused muscles.  She’s only just settled behind the desk when Brevet arrives.

The hardened soldier actually cracks a smile upon seeing her.  Belle gestures toward his customary chair.  “How are you, my lady?” he asks as he sits.

“Exhausted, apparently.  But I felt we should confer before I retire.”  She flicks through the parchment on her desk and frowns.  “Where are my reports?”

“They weren’t delivered.  You weren’t here to receive them.”

“Well, my council was here.  You might have-”  She flicks a hand, “No matter.  We need to work out a procedure in case of my absence.  I won’t have the entire village falling apart because I’m not here to keep an eye on things, understand?”

For some reason, Brevet smiles again, wider.  “Of course, my lady.”

Belle feels slightly adrift without her usual stack of parchment to leaf through.  “Did, ah- were the bodies disposed of?”

“Yes, my lady.  Martine’s already claimed the bone meal and ashes for the fields.  Never seen him so excited.”

Belle gives a satisfied nod.  “About time the beasts were useful for something.”

“Agreed.”

The door opens to admit Victurnien, already clasping his hands below a soppy beam.  “My lady, the gods shower us with miracles today!”

“I suppose they do, Cleric Victurnien.  Do sit down.”

He does so, and all but vibrates in place.  “My lady, you must tell us, did Sir Rumpelstiltskin truly fell an ogre with one mighty blast of his light magic?”

Belle blinks, “Well, uh, yes, he-”

“Stupendous!  And that after rescuing you and Lady Colette from the horde’s dreadful clutches.  Superb!  I must confess there was a time or two when I was told of his exploits and I thought to myself they _couldn’t_ be true, they were too astounding.  Now I see the tellers likely undervalued the scope of his achievements!”

Vague discomfort prickles at Belle but she tamps it down.  “Sir Rumpelstiltskin was very helpful in dealing with the situation.  He deserves our gratitude.  Perhaps we’ll hold another dinner.”

Victurnien gapes at her.  “A- a _dinner_ , my lady?  But are you not planning to w-?”

The arrival of Martine and Arnaud interrupts his question.  They give quick bows before taking their chairs.

Belle lets out a breath, gaze roving over the four men.  “So, councilors,” she says, “What were my odds?”

They all frown in puzzled silence.

Belle smirks, “Come on, tell me, I can take it.  Though, please say there was at least _one_ silver on my survival, less a limb perhaps.”

The frowns are replaced by appalled looks, with only a faint tinge of guilt.

Belle snickers, “Relax, gentlemen.  I’m sure you would’ve waited at least a week to commission my grave marker.”

“Two,” Brevet assures her somberly with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

Belle gives him a wide smile before continuing.  “Well, thankfully you won’t have to work it into the budget.  I’m returned.  And so is my mother.”  Her good humor fades.  “She doesn’t know about Lord Maurice yet.  I will tell her once she wakes and her health is improved.  Is that clear?”

Her councilors nod, probably relieved to be explicitly pardoned from that particular burden.  Belle’s entirely unsure how she’ll handle it herself, but it is her ever-changing duty as a daughter.

For now, she says, “While Lady Colette was trapped, she made a discovery that I think could be monumental.  The moss in our caves has a repellant quality to ogres.  As soon as possible, I want people in the sea cave by the dock harvesting the moss there.  I want it made into a paste and applied to the wall.  Martine will supervise the harvest and Brevet the application.  Understood?”

Her councilors blink in surprise and confusion, but the men chosen for the task soon nod.

“Good.  Other than that, what happened during the last attack?  After Sir Rumpelstiltskin and I were taken?”

Belle’s stomach sinks as Brevet’s face fills with weary grief.  He flatly reports, “One dead.  Six wounded, two severely.  The archers took the ogre down.”

Belle heaves a sigh.  “I’m... I’m glad the archers focused on defending the soldiers.  That was exactly right.”  She lets a silent moment pass before saying, “So, is there anything else to discuss?  Any questions you have?”

The council exchange silent looks.  Eventually, Arnaud shifts in his seat and leans forward to ask, “Excuse me, but... is it true that Sir Rumpelstiltskin fought off a whole horde of ogres so you could escape?”

Belle’s brow furrows at the question.  “Oh, uh, Mother and I actually escaped from the cave before that.  We were some distance away when Sir Rumpelstiltskin... did whatever he did to get out.”

“He must have,” Martine declares, “They’d’ve killed him if he hadn’t.” 

“Well, they were mostly asleep-” Belle starts, but Victurnien’s already aglow with enthusiasm.

“Isn’t it too astonishing?  But here is the proof before us.  Lady Belle and the formerly lamented Lady Colette, restored!”

“Impressive work, at any rate,” Brevet remarks quietly.

“Yes, _well_ ,” Belle says, voice sharper than she might have intended, “I’m sure I can expect the reports for today to come with those for tomorrow.  I will be especially eager to know how the moss harvest is progressing.  And I’m sure, Cleric Victurnien, you’ve a memorial to arrange.  Otherwise, I’ve been told I need rest, so I’ll bid you all a good evening.”

They stand and bow, return her parting words and file out.  Belle looks at reports for a few minutes, the information feeling weeks old instead of less than two days.  Eventually admitting they contain nothing new, Belle steps away from the office and returns to her room.  She prepares for bed, struggling out of her dress alone through pure stubbornness.

It takes longer than Belle expects to fall asleep, and she wakes the next morning with the memory of an ogre’s roar echoing in her ears.  _It’s dead_ , she tells herself, _Rumpelstiltskin killed it._   She should find him.  Thank him in person for- whatever it was he did.  But first she must visit Colette.  She knows every moment she postpones telling her mother about Maurice is a cruelty.

Belle climbs out of bed and goes to her vanity.  Though she washed her face last night, there is still a faint stain of the moss in her skin.  It’s stubborn stuff.  It will paint the wall today, she silently swears.  She gets dressed with ease as long as she doesn’t pause to let her muscles complain, then makes her way wincingly out of her room.

A new healer greets her with a smile that’s sunnier than the dawn.  “Good morning, my lady!”

“Good morning.  Excuse me...”

The healer dodges in front of Belle’s attempt at a side-step.  “Not before breakfast.  Aren’t you hungry?”

Belle hardly ever has time for more than a cup of tea and some bread in the morning, eaten at her desk.  But she supposes Colette will scold her if she doesn’t take every chance to replenish herself after their ordeal- which is such a strange and beautiful thought Belle’s too enchanted by it to protest being led to the small table in her sitting room and plied with porridge and fruit and hot, strong tea.

She’s released only after the healer declares her suitably fed.  Then she’s directed to the lord’s chambers where Colette has been recovering.  Girard himself stands outside the closed door conferring with a junior healer.

“Hello, doctor,” Belle greets him softly, “Has my mother woken?”

Girard sends the healer off with an exchange of nods before turning to Belle.  “Good morning.  Lady Colette has been drifting in and out of sleep.  She’s been asking for you.  And for Lord Maurice, gods rest him.  Captain Brevet relayed your order.  We’ve said nothing.”

Belle swallows.  “Good.  Thank you.  May I sit with her?”

“Yes.  But do be- gentle.  She will be weak for some time.”

“Of course.”  Belle pushes open the door to the lord’s chambers and slips inside.

This area is on the western side of the castle, so the sun’s bright rays at this hour are reduced to a pale reflected glow.  Belle pads to the bed where Colette lies propped up on pillows, head fallen to the side slightly, a gentle snore emerging from her nose.  Even with her altered skin and withered frame, the sheer wonder of the sight has Belle’s eyes burning.  Her mother never was an early riser, and as a young child Belle would delight in leaping onto the bed to roughly rouse Colette from sleep.  Today, she perches carefully on the edge and lays a hand over Colette’s.

The snores slowly taper, then her eyes open.  Colette smiles, “Hello, my dearest.”

Gulping at her aching throat, Belle chokes out, “Good morning, Mother.  How are you?”

“I’m well.  Still tired, though I’m not sure if that’s because of what’s happened or if I’m just old.”

“You’re not old,” Belle immediately says.

“No, I suppose I’m not- not very old.  War makes us old though.  I’m sure you’ve come to know that.”

Belle nods as dark, desperate, recent history sprawls in her mind.

“Where is your father, Belle?  He doesn’t live in these chambers anymore, that much I can see.”

The weight of the moment, the hated words that only she can speak, all but crushes Belle on the feather mattress.  _Tell her you’ll talk about it later, that she needs to rest_ , begs the coward within.  Instead, she says, “Mother, there was an accident, five months ago.”

Colette’s face hardens into a stone mask.

Belle continues to speak, her words plummeting into an invisible chasm that yawns between her and Colette.  “After an attack, Papa was inspecting the wall.  Part of it collapsed.  The healers tried to help, but he didn’t-”

“No, don’t,” Colette mutters.  For an instant she looks completely lost, as if all meaning has drained from reality.  Then she sinks deep among the pillows and rolls over on her side, away from Belle.

Belle reaches out to her, but when her fingertips brush Colette’s shoulder, she flinches away.

“Go!” she snaps, then draws in and releases a breath.  “Just...  Return at supper, would you?  Please?”

Her voice is already cracking.  Feeling like a worse monster than every ogre combined, Belle slips off the bed and flees, abandoning her mother to unimaginable grief.


	20. Chapter 20

Belle spends the rest of her day dodging curious looks from servants, catching up on reports, and ignoring the sick knot of guilt and grief in her stomach.  Supper time comes, and she trudges back to the lord’s chambers like a condemned woman.  Her meal with Colette is a stiff affair.  It seems like they’ve both forgotten how to smile and can only manage tiny approximations every now and then.  Colette claims exhaustion with her plate still half full, and Belle flees once again.  Desperate for any kind of comfort, she allows herself to venture into the castle’s library.

She only spends a few minutes trailing fingertips over familiar tales of romance and adventure before beginning her search for books on moss and the best ways to cultivate it.  As badly as she wants the wall and every building and ideally every person wearing a coat of protective paste immediately, she knows they must be careful not to overharvest their supply.  Half of the sea cave’s growth was collected and applied to the wall yesterday.  A plan to produce more must be developed.

With a small stack of promising volumes in hand, Belle heads for her writing desk, only to stop short when she realizes it’s already occupied.  Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes dart up from the book he’s reading, and immediately drop again.  “Oh, uh, apologies, B- my- uh...”

He’s half out of his chair before Belle holds out a hand.  “It’s all right,” she says, though she’s not actually sure that it is, “Um, what are you reading?”

“A history of Collioure,” he replies with a wincing smile and a flash of the book’s cover.

Belle squints and frowns at it.  “Is that the one by Hugo?  Oh no, not that, you need the Bastian.  This way.”  She sets her own selections on the desk and strides off among the shelves, leaving Rumpelstiltskin to trail after her while she plucks out books and drops them in his arms.  “I don’t know why we keep the Hugo around, he must have been a friend of someone’s.  But it’s awful- dry as powder and horribly biased.  Bastian is far better, and when you’re done I’m sure you’ll want Marcel, here.  His book covers the whole region, which adds so much more context to the Bastian.  He includes a chapter on the Crescent Islands too, so if you’d like more on that, here’s Enzo.  He’s a wonderful storyteller- that’s a favorite of mine.  If you just want martial history you’ll need the Bernard, here.  It plods a little, but he ties it all together in the end.  Let’s see, what am I forgetting?”

“Ah, anything about the local flora and fauna?”

“Sinclair!” Belle cries, lunging around Rumpelstiltskin to snatch a volume.  She recoils awkwardly and holds it out to him, “Um, well, here you are- or, actually.”  She pulls it back.  “I- I might need it.  Sorry.”

He shrugs behind his teetering stack.  “Of course, no problem.”

“I wanted to read up about the moss, you see.  Make sure we harvest and grow it correctly.”

“Good idea.”

“And you?  May I ask what inspired your interest in our history?”

Discomfort fills his face and his gaze seems to flicker in the direction of the library’s door.  “Well, honestly...  I can’t leave.”

Belle blinks, “What?”

His discomfort gains a sheen of desperation.  “It’s not so bad in the castle, but every time I try to go anywhere, a crowd of people shows up.  And they want me to tell the whole story all over again, or blast a hole in the ground with magic, or... or pull an ogre’s head from my trousers, I don’t know!”

Belle can’t help giggling at his consternation, which immediately collapses into sullen self-consciousness.

“Of course it’s not the worst problem to have, but I just needed a little peace and quiet, you know?”

Belle nods.  “If the adoring public becomes overwhelming, you could perhaps visit my office.  No one goes there if they don’t have to.”

“Sounds lovely, thanks.”  He shakes his head with a sigh, “I mean it, I’m not ungrateful.  I suppose I’m used to moving on by now.  The next mission, the next town.  I don’t tend to stay for the aftermath.”    It’s on Belle’s tongue to mention how difficult all his travel must be on his wife, but his contemplative gaze focuses on her again and he asks, "How is your mother?”

“Poorly,” Belle confesses, “I told her about my father today.”

Deep pain flashes across Rumpelstiltskin’s face before he turns away and breathes, “Gods...  Well, she had to know.  I understood staying silent in the cave, but...”

“We couldn’t hide it,” Belle finishes, “Now I only hope...  She’s lived through so much, this can’t be...”

Her arms cross tight over her middle and squeeze as if she can wring out the tortured worries plaguing her mind.

Rumpelstiltskin sets a warm hand on her shoulder, drawing her pained gaze.  “She’s here now.”

Belle nods, “She is, which is- well, as near a miracle as anything I’ve ever known.  Except I suppose for what happened in the ruins.  I had no idea your magic was so... violent.”

His hand leaves her shoulder to rub at his forehead.  “It’s not.  I mean, it- it never has been before.  Maybe the first time...  I don’t know why that happened.  I’m sorry if it frightened you.”

Belle can only shrug, “I’m alive.  I’d rather be frightened and alive than dead and- well, dead.  Thank you.”

“Yes.  Well.  You’re most welcome.  Ah, shall we read?”

They go back to the desk to get Belle’s other books, then she leads him to an alcove where plush chairs sit before a hearth.  She kindles a fire while Rumpelstiltskin cracks the Bastian.  She dives into the Sinclair, managing to lose herself in the words while the last of evening’s light fades from the sky.

At the end of a chapter her eyes flick up to spot Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze jumping from her to the fire.  Worry flashes through Belle that he’s been waiting for her to rejoin the world outside her book, as has happened with others countless times.  However, he simply piles his collection in his arms and stands.

“Time for some rest, I think,” he murmurs, “I’ll continue with these in my chambers.”

“Of course.  Good night, Rumpel.”

The informality slips out with strange ease, but Belle can’t quite regret it while firelight plays over his crooked smile.  “Good night, Belle.”

He moves around her chair and disappears into the library’s shadows.  Belle continues to read, but somehow the area feels too quiet now, emptier than it should be.  Belle departs for her own chambers soon and stares at the books she picked out until her eyes drift shut.

The information she needs sadly doesn’t float from the books to her brain in the night, so she must fend for herself while venturing out to check on the moss harvest.  Martine stands with her outside the cave while a group of people diligently scrub every speck off another section of the inner walls and collect it in bags.

“You, uh, you’re sure about this stuff, eh?” Martine inquires, arms crossed and eyes squinted, “I never heard of ogre’s not liking moss.”

“Neither had I.  But I slept a night in a cave full of ogres with precious little protection besides this moss.  Mother says it’s what kept her alive these past months.  Anyway, even if it’s not a guarantee of safety, our people benefit from having a task to complete.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

“S’pose,” he mutters.

“My lady!  My lady!” cries a voice Belle doesn’t recognize right away.  Turning around, she sharply realizes why.  She’s never heard Vivian’s voice outside the windy wooden confines of the aviary.  But here the woman comes,  dashing between people and past old fishing equipment until she skids to a halt in front of Belle and thrusts a folded bit of weather-stained parchment at her nose, “Here!”

Taking the delivery, a strange jolt of chilled heat thuds into Belle as she registers the king’s stamp.  She opens the letter then and there, reading the hasty scrawl within:

(Sir Rumpelstiltskin,  
Condolences to Lady Belle.  You were right to stay and assist.  Defensive force of 1000 to be assembled and deployed.  Stand by for their arrival.  
King Xavier I, House of Verdes, protector and steward of Mrshlnd)

“The bird’s about worn to the bone, my lady,” Vivian says from somewhere far away, “Must’ve had a devil of a time getting here from the capital.  Maybe weeks of travel.”

“Weeks...” Belle murmurs, “That means... the army could be here soon.  Almost any day.”  Her gaze rises to Martine’s ruddy face.  “They are coming.  The king has sent a thousand soldiers to protect us.”

A huge grin splits his face and he lets out a whoop before grabbing Belle around the waist and spinning her in a circle.  She clings to his shoulders and laughs along with him.  He sets her down and races off to share the news.

Belle’s still too lost in shock to do more than stand in place.  Vivian sniffs.  “A thousand soldiers.  That’s a fine thing.  Hey, what’s this over here?”

Belle follows her quick gesture to the sea cave.  “Oh, um...  The moss repels ogres.  We’re painting the wall with it.”

Vivian’s eyebrows jump.  “Oh aye?  Well, less call for that now, eh?  Once the army’s here, the wall’s coming down.”

A new, leaden jolt hits Belle, vaporizing her joy and leaving clammy fear in its wake.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: we’ll be revisiting Gaston’s epic creepiness here.

Belle hurries to the castle, determined to share the news of King Xavier’s message with Colette before anyone else gets the chance.  If anything can win a real smile from her it should be their first bit of hope for lasting peace and safety.

As she approaches the lord’s chambers she sees the door is cracked open, allowing Colette’s soft chuckle to drift out.  Curious as to what might have lifted her mother’s mood, Belle quickens her pace until she can look into the sitting room.  She finds Colette at tea, accompanied by Rumpelstiltskin.

 _First my library, now my mother_ \- the venomous thought darts through Belle’s mind before she pushes it away and knocks on the doorframe.  The small party turns to her, Rumpelstiltskin giving her a soft smile, Colette more of a nod.

“Hello, Belle,” Colette says, “Come join us.”

She scurries forward, message gripped in her hand like a talisman.  “I have news.  Wonderful news.”

“Oh?”

“A response to the letter we sent the king, asking for aid.”  Belle unfolds the parchment and gives it to Colette.

“One thousand men,” she reads, voice going slightly breathless, “ _Well_ , that will certainly be a change.  I wonder if this number includes staff- the healers, army cooks, and the like.” She turns to Belle, handing back the message, “Will they stay inside the wall?  Do you know how many horses they’ll bring?  Do we have the food to spare for them?”

Belle swallows dryly as she’s pinioned by Colette’s questions.  “I- I’m not sure yet.  We will be ready.”

“We must be.  A defensive force is no good if we cannot host them properly.”

“Of course,” Belle mutters, feeling thirteen-years-old again.

“What I’d like to know is where these thousand men were months ago.  I recall we were expecting a knight- did he not reach the village?  What was his name...?”

Gaston arrived a month after he was due with plans for the trebuchet that might have saved Colette from being abducted two weeks earlier.  Belle’s gut burns with her old hatred, which thankfully clears some of her adolescent insecurity.  “We can discuss that later,” she says firmly, “For now, I have preparations to make.  Will you excuse me?”

Colette waves a hand, gaze on the table.

Rumpelstiltskin lets out a gentle cough and rises.  “I’ll take my leave as well.  It was good to see you, my lady.  Perhaps I could visit tomorrow?”

She gives him a bright smile.  “Of course, Sir Rumpel.  Thank you for coming.”

He leaves Colette’s chambers with Belle, who forces herself not to stomp ahead like a surly child.  An ugly mix of envy, disappointment, and worry roils within her so she almost doesn’t hear Rumpelstiltskin’s quiet words, “I hope I’ve not overstepped my bounds.”

Belle blinks away from her stormy thoughts to look at him, “What?”

“Visiting with Lady Colette- at least, so early in her recovery.  I apologize, if I have.”

Belle shuts her eyes and blows out a cleansing breath, letting her rational mind answer, “My mother’s been alone for far too long.  She deserves all the company she desires.  I should thank you for taking the time.”

“It’s no matter,” he mumbles into his chest.

“No, she- she seemed happy, to be with you.  It’s more than I can do for her right now, it seems.”

She bites her tongue against her unplanned confession, cringes under Rumpelstiltskin’s immediate look of pity.  “Oh no, it’s not that.  She doesn’t want you to see her weakness.  She wants to be the woman you remember, as impossible as that is.  I’m not family, not someone she’s responsible for.  I’m no one.”  He pauses, looking ahead.  “Anyway, we have some- similar experiences.  I thought it might do us both good to share them.”

Of course, Belle realizes, the only person in the village who’s been in direct contact with ogres nearly as much as Colette is Rumpelstiltskin.  Belle would never expect her to keep it all bottled inside, to suffer in silence under the weight of her nightmarish memories.  “Thank you,” she murmurs, trying to fill the words with enough meaning that Rumpelstiltskin won’t brush them off.

“You’re welcome, Belle.”  They walk on in silence for a moment before he asks, “Ah, where are we going, exactly?”

Belle looks around and has to let out a helpless laugh as she realizes her determined march has no destination.  “I don’t know.  Um, to Brevet, I suppose.  We must confer about the defensive force’s arrival, what they’ll need.  It’s about midday.  I’ll see if he’s at training.”

“Right.  And would you mind if I joined you?”

“Of course not.  You know more about the king’s army than me.”

“True enough. They’ll bring their own rations, by the way.  They won’t demand a besieged village fill their stomachs.”

“Good to know.”

They carry on to the courtyard, where Brevet is indeed running drills with his soldiers.  Belle detects some extra vigor in their movements that suggests the news has already reached them.  Regardless, they go on as usual, not pausing until Brevet ends the drill and dismisses them.  He turns to Belle and Rumpelstiltskin and says, “So I hear ten thousand men will be on our doorstep tomorrow.”

Belle rolls her eyes at the inevitable extravagance of gossip.  “Only a thousand, I’m afraid.  And it could be weeks.”

He twists his mouth and shrugs, “That’ll have to do.  What else do we know?”

“Almost nothing.”  Belle passes him the message.

He squints at it as if hoping to discover more words.  “Right, no mention of what weapons they’ll bring, or defensive tools.  Could wander up with nothing but the clothes on their backs for all we know.”

“Uh, in my experience the king’s army travels with spears and bows,” Rumpelstiltskin says, “They also carry curved shields that deflect just about anything thrown at them.  The shields also interlock into a barrier that can catch an ogre at full charge.  Doesn’t stop it entirely, but slows it down so the archers and foot soldiers can counterattack.”  He glances between Brevet and Belle.  “I mean, of course we don’t _know_ what they’ll have.  But that’s standard equipment.”

Brevet raises an eyebrow.  “Interlocking shields, eh?”

“A Frontlands invention.  I’ve seen them used quite effectively.”

“Fascinating.  We’ll have to see what the king’s archers think of our wall, if it’s worth keeping or ought to come down.”

“It stays,” Belle informs him.  Under the two men’s pensive stares and the cold fear slithering in her stomach, she continues, “Collioure deserves two lines of defense, the wall painted with moss and the army.  And the archers would only be more effective shooting from above.  There’s no reason whatsoever to dismantle it.”

“Well, their supplies would be stored inside,” Brevet says, “Probably keep a number of soldiers in reserve there too.  It’ll be a rather large inconvenience to rely on one gap in the wall for travel in and out, especially in a battle.”

“The entire wall need not come down, surely,” Rumpelstiltskin suggests, “It has definite value as an archer’s perch.  I know I prefer to have the watch posts up and occupied as well.  But if it could be opened-”

“Not happening,” Belle cuts him off, “It’s been decided.”  She steps away, saying, “I have other matters to attend to.  Brevet, you’ll present a report on what preparations need to be made tomorrow, understood?”

He pauses a fraction too long before responding, “Yes, my lady.”

Belle spins on a heel and leaves them, trusting that no other foolish notions will enter their heads.

She occupies herself with chores in her office until evening and supper approaches.  Belle eradicates a flicker of reluctance with a lashing of guilt that drives her from the office and down the corridors to the lord’s chambers.  At the closed door she allows herself one promise that if Colette is asleep she won’t disturb her, then knocks.

“Come in.”

Belle opens the door and finds Colette standing from the desk in the bedroom.  “Good evening, Mother.”

She smiles faintly.  “Good evening, dear.  You chose the right time to arrive, Susanne just told me supper should be here shortly.”

“Wonderful,” Belle replies, trying to contemplate what it must be like to go from nearly a year of digging insects from the dirt and scavenging nuts and berries to having a hot meal set before you whenever requested.

Meanwhile, they come to the table in the sitting room and take their chairs.  “You’ve had a productive day?” Colette inquires.

“Mostly the usual business.  Captain Brevet will see to preparations for the army and painting the wall.  He’ll tell me of his progress tomorrow.”

She smiles, nods.  “That he will.  Brevet is reliable, always has been.”

“Yes.  He’s been patient with me.  It’s been a great help.”  She realizes the full truth of her words as she says them.  She’s always had Brevet’s support, even if he hasn’t agreed with all of her choices.

“He’s your father’s oldest friend, you know.  It could easily have been him who was named the lord of Collioure, and M- and Maurice his captain of the guard.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  I’ll tell you the story, one of these days.”  The chamber door opens, admitting Colette’s maid Susanne and another servant to deliver their meals and pour water.

Colette reaches for her napkin and nearly brushes the servant’s hand while she sets down a glass.  The servant flinches and steps away from the table as if avoiding a poisonous plant.  As soon as their task is done and Susanne and the servant have left Belle turns to Colette.  “What on Earth was that?  You’d think you were diseased, the way that girl behaved.  That’s unacceptable.  Has Susanne spoken to her?”

Colette smiles wanly, and stirs her vegetable broth.  “There’s no use causing a fuss, Belle.  It won’t do any good.”

“And why not?” she presses.

She sighs, “There are some here who might consider me a kind of revenant.  It’s all right, I understand that reaction.”

“Well, I don’t,” Belle declares, tearing a piece of bread from a loaf, “You aren’t some undead thing.  You were never dead at all.”

“It was enough that they believed I was.  A loss happens, people grieve, they move on.  It’s a natural process.  And one that’s almost impossible to reverse.”

“They can bloody well try harder,” Belle grumbles into her bowl of rabbit stew.

“I know I don’t make it easy,” Colette murmurs, gesturing to her stained skin.  It almost seems to glitter in the evening light.

“You are the lady of Collioure and you’ve done nothing to earn their superstitious fear.”

“ _You_ are the lady of Collioure, darling,” Colette says, “You’ve succeeded your father as you were always meant to.”

The simple fact leaves Belle feeling tired and sad.  “Not like this.”

Her sorrow is reflected in Colette’s face.  “No, not like this.  And how has it come to this, Belle?  Why has it taken all this time for the army to come?  I know Collioure is a long march, but surely the knight who was sent saw our need for help.”

Belle hunches over her meal.  She takes one breath, and begins.  “Sir Gaston came.  And he saw.  And when he returned to the capital, he lied.”  She swallows another spoonful of stew, hoping to release the knot in her throat with its warmth.  She succeeds enough to continue in a dull tone, “After our first victory, Gaston came to Papa whilst he and I were in the library.  Gaston didn’t know I was there.  He came to ask...  Well, no, he didn’t ask, did he?  He simply stated his intention to be Papa’s heir, and make me his little wife.  As if it was the most natural thing in the world.”  She straightens her back then to fix a fiercely proud gaze on Colette.  “Papa corrected Gaston’s obvious misunderstandings about his place and mine in Collioure.  This upset Gaston somewhat.”

The memory of what happened next fills Belle’s mind with black fog, and she bends over her bowl again, hands clenching on either side.  Colette’s gray-green-brown hand gently rests over one fist.  “Did he- continue to press his suit, without Maurice’s approval?”

“No,” Belle replies, voice gone tiny.  Most of her begs to leave it at that, but she recalls her earlier thought that she wouldn’t want Colette to silence herself, to feel she can’t share things even if they are painful.  It must go both ways, Belle decides.  “After Papa dismissed him, Gaston was so angry, I was afraid he’d attack the first servant he saw.  So I followed him.  He went to my chambers, and entered without knocking.  He stayed there for a minute or two, then left.  That was the last time I saw him.”

The hand Colette laid over Belle’s has tensed and a tremor ripples through it.  Belle drags her gaze up to watch fury dance over Colette’s face.  “Will you please do something for me, dear?” she inquires in a voice like jagged ice.

“What is it, Mother?”

“If we ever come into contact with this Gaston, remind me to scratch his eyes from his skull.  Can you do that?”

Belle’s lips curl into an ugly grin.  “I will try, though I warn you I might be too busy doing the deed myself.”

Colette draws in and releases a deep breath through her nose.  The fury drains, leaving behind fresh sorrow.  “You have no peer, Belle,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no girl born to a noble house in the Marshlands has been named the sole heir, even if she was eldest.  Women have inherited seats of power, but only when there was no other option, and they were never entrusted with the full weight of their position.  You were different.  Your father and I might have hoped that would afford you better treatment from outsiders.  It seems the minds of men are less adaptable than that.  I’m sorry I can’t give you a more just world.  But I know you will change it for the better.”

Belle uncurls her fist and turns her hand to hold Colette’s.  “All I need is your example.  Do the brave thing...”

Colette’s eyes shine.  “And bravery will follow.”


	22. Chapter 22

The days that follow carry a palpable buzz as all of Collioure awaits the army’s arrival.  Even without that momentous news, the coming festival of Olene brings another layer of excitement.  Victurnien is beside himself- it seems since the siege began almost no couples were sanguine enough about the future to marry, let alone on Olene’s day, but with lasting protection on the horizon, he’ll be performing ceremonies from dawn to dusk.  Belle hopes the goddess appreciates their large tribute, after so long with only minimal celebration.  But then, that’s what Olene is about- hope, as exemplified by marriage.  Therefore, as the day of the festival dawns, Belle allows herself just that.  To hope.  If only out of religious obligation.

She reaches deep in her wardrobe to extract a simple white dress she could never quite surrender for shredding into bandages.  She slips into it and yanks on the bodice’s laces until it more or less fits.  A glimpse at the mirror has Belle ducking her head to avoid the hollow-cheeked specter with the purple smudges under her eyes.  It’s fine.  No one will be focused on her.  She brushes out her hair and pins it away from her face, then goes to the lord’s chambers.

“Come in,” Colette replies to Belle’s soft knock.  She finds her mother at her vanity, wearing a similar pale dress and considering how to pin up her long braid.

Belle steps behind her and takes hold of the dark length.  “Here, let me.  Where is Susanne?”

“Probably already at the temple with Patrice.  I wasn’t going to delay her with something I can do myself, today of all days.”  Colette’s gaze falls to her lap, cheer draining away.

Belle lays a careful hand on her shoulder.  “If you ever want to leave, just send someone to find me.  I’m not interested in spending all hours in this heat either.”

Yesterday saw the sun blaze like high summer and today looks to be more of the same.  Colette gives her a smile that seems mostly genuine.  “I will, dear.”

Belle finishes winding and pinning Colette’s braid, then they leave the lord’s chambers together, Colette walking mostly unaided.  The castle seems almost abandoned, as if everyone decided to get a head-start on the festival.  This impression carries all the way out into the brilliant mid-morning sunshine.  Already the air is filled with the sounds of conversation and music and the smells of baking cakes and roasting meat.  Belle and Colette make their way to the center of it all- the town square.  A small group of musicians play simple tunes, warming up for when the celebration is in full swing.  Other people set up tables and arrange fruit baskets and flower garlands.

Belle leads Colette to a sun-dappled area off to one side of the square, where several chairs are gathered around a few small tables.  Some of the chairs are already occupied by women.  Colette exchanges nods with them as she takes her place among Collioure’s widows.  A little sunshine catches on her skin, making it glitter.

“Shall I bring you a drink, Mother?” Belle asks.

“Certainly, dear, thank you.”

Belle hurries to fetch a clay cup filled with cool lemonade.  As she returns she notices people shooting curious glances in Colette’s direction.  None seem hostile, and they never will if they know what’s good for them.  No one will make Belle’s brave, strong mother feel like a monster.  “Here you are,” she says while handing Colette her drink.

“Thank you.  Now, off you go.  This is no place for a maiden.”

Belle would prefer to stay by Colette’s side and make sure she’s comfortable, but she’s right- Belle has her own business in this festival.  “All right.  Remember what I said.”

“Of course.  Go on.”

Belle walks away, and within a few minutes she’s embedded with the other young women in white dresses- peeling potatoes, stirring batter, cutting fruit, crafting small bouquets, on and on until it’s suddenly near noon and the square is full of people.

Victurnien steps away from his eager couples to join the crowd in the square, standing among them with folded hands and a brilliant smile.  “Dear friends, my heart sings to see you all here today.  We may have thought in the dark times so recently past that the gods had forsaken us.  However, we have faced the trials placed before us with strength and devotion, and we have proven ourselves worthy of the gods’ blessings.  Today, we praise Olene, the goddess whose tender spirit shall light our weary path to glories as yet undreamed.  May she guide the heart of our young Lady Belle to find the everlasting happiness of true love.”

Elbow-deep in a lump of bread dough, Belle blinks at the sound of her name and looks up to see everyone nearby aiming soppy grins in her direction.  Cheeks burning, she forces a smile of her own and a gracious nod.

Victurnien continues, “It was my fervent prayer that we would not see another widow on this Olene’s day.  However, the recovery of our Lady Colette is a true miracle, and we welcome her home with open arms.”

Belle’s embarrassment cools at his kind words.  Hopefully they’ll inspire some sense in those who let superstition make them cruel.

“Let us praise our savior Sir Rumpelstiltskin, chosen of the gods, who gave us the gifts of Lady Colette and Lady Belle’s safe return.  Let us beseech Olene to guide his heart to true love’s embrace.”

Belle squints up at Victurnien in confusion.  As a married man, it might be assumed Rumpelstiltskin has already found true love’s embrace.  At the very least, Olene may not be known in the Frontlands and it’s quite rude of Victurnien call her attention where it wouldn’t be wanted.  Belle glances through the applauding crowd and spots Rumpelstiltskin looking about as uncomfortable as she feels, even as he gives a wave to his admirers.

“And now, my friends, it is the time for music and dancing and a hearty feast.  Let us rejoice, in the name of Olene!”

A cheer rings out in the square and the musicians throw themselves into the first lively tune.  From her place at a work table Belle focuses on pinching bits of dough and forming them into twists.  It’s nice to be out in the sun, doing something with her hands that isn’t flipping through reports filled with bad news.  Hope, she reminds herself.  Hoping that the bad news is behind them, that’s what she scheduled for today.

“Are these ready for the oven, my lady?” asks a familiar voice. 

Belle turns to find Verna wearing her own white dress.  She smiles, “Good day, Verna.  Um, these need honey first, I believe.”

“Ah, all right.”  Verna reaches to the end of the table to fetch a bowl of honey with a dipper resting inside.

Belle takes the dipper and begins drizzling the twists.  “Are you excited for the festival?  I don’t suppose you have a, ah, sweetheart to spend it with?”

Her slightly strained small talk is met with a giggle and blush.  “Oh, well, not as such, my lady.”  The bashful cheer fades from Verna’s face.  “I don’t think the lads quite know what to do with me, now that I’m...”

“An ogre-slayer?”

She shrugs a shoulder.  “Yeah.  Seems like they can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, so I’m just... left alone.”

“Well, in my opinion anyone who doesn’t think you’re a hero isn’t worth your time,” Belle declares.  She recoils slightly as Verna just shrugs again.

“I suppose,” she murmurs.  Then she leans close to Belle, squinting as she whispers, ‘But what if he’s _really_ handsome?”

Belle rolls her eyes with a snort, “That’s even worse.  Then he’ll probably consider _himself_ a hero without having ever helped anyone.”

“He might at that.  Probably think it’s enough to let us gaze upon his beautiful face.”

“Right, and expect us to bow and praise him for his generosity.”  She bends double, hands fluttering as she simpers, “Oh, _thank you_ , kind sir, _thank you_.”

The pair are a sniggering mess and the twists are almost swimming in honey.  As Verna lifts the pan to place it in an outdoor clay oven, Belle notices small bandages on the first and middle fingers of her right hand.

“Still practicing?”

Verna straightens.  “Of course, my lady.  Every day.  The blisters are a nuisance, but we want to look good when the army comes, don’t we?”

Belle nods, “Certainly.”

The musicians’ latest song ends, and they play the soft introduction of a new one.  While Belle’s stomach drops, Verna’s eyes light up and she grabs Belle’s hand.  “The circle dance, my lady!  Come!”

“Oh no, I should keep an eye on the oven-”

Her weak excuse is waved away by a matron who approaches them.  “On with you, my lady, no maiden gets left out.  You know that.”

Belle allows herself to be towed along behind Verna into the middle of the square where all of Collioure’s young women arrange themselves in a circle.  Some have their heads ducked close to those of young men, fingers flashing as they count steps together.  The lads nod and move away, sharing furtive grins with their sweethearts as they take their carefully chosen places around the circle.

Belle wonders how many more years she’ll be made to take part in this silly tradition if she doesn’t marry.  Will she be a silver-haired crone gamboling about with the other maidens someday?  She rolls her eyes at the thought, and then catches sight of Victurnien wandering nearby with his arm firmly tucked into Rumpelstiltskin’s.  The cleric’s gaze keeps jumping to Belle, seeming to monitor her as she picks a place in the circle.

“He wouldn’t dare...” she breathes with mounting outrage.  But there’s nothing she can do as the song’s introduction ends and she’s obliged to curtsey and kick before closing her eyes, spinning in a circle, and throwing both hands out in front of her.  Someone taps her palm and her eyes start open to see a lad scuttle back to snicker with his fellows.  As the dance continues, Victurnien chats airily with Rumpelstiltskin while they slowly stroll, coming a little closer with each revolution.  Belle can’t believe he would be so brazen.  She thought it was understood that her participation is just for show.  And Rumpelstiltskin has no business participating at all.  Apparently Victurnien has some foolish idea in his head, one that Belle will disabuse him of as soon as she regains her freedom.

Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin glances over Victurnien’s head and throws her a slightly bemused grin.  Belle tries to apologize with nothing but a wincing smile- it’s unclear how successful she is.  After another moment she loses sight of them, giving her a merciful span in which to think Victurnien’s come to his senses.  But then the musicians reach the final verse of the song and the tempo speeds up and the step changes to a blind curtsey and spin with outstretched hands.  All Belle can do is focus on not tripping and taking the whole circle down with her as she struggles to keep her eyes shut.  Then she’s flinging her hands out once more just as the music stops and a warm, gentle grasp catches her fingers.

Belle opens her eyes, but stares fixedly at the ground, partially to clear the dizziness from her head and partially to avoid the person holding her hands.  She can’t hide a cringe as laughter and applause surround her, forcing her to lift her head and plaster on a smile that only glances over the man in front of her.  It curdles into a snarl when she spots Victurnien standing nearby, beaming like the sun.

“I suppose we-” Rumpelstiltskin starts before Belle rips her hands from his and stalks in Victurnien’s direction.

“Come with me,” she growls, clamping a hand on his shoulder and turning him so that he falls into step at her side.


	23. Chapter 23

Anger and embarrassment and utter confusion riot in Belle, demanding to be released.  She manages to contain it all until she’s dragged Victurnien to a narrow alley away from the festival.  There, she yanks him around to face her and grinds out, “Explain yourself, _now_.”

Victurnien gives her a smile he probably thinks is conciliatory, for all its condescension.  “My lady, I meant no offense.  It’s not as if the circle dance is binding-”

“Sir Rumpelstiltskin had no place in it at all and you know it.  I can’t even imagine what made you think it was appropriate to include him.  I understand sweethearts figuring out how many steps it’ll take to meet at the end, but I would have thought you of all people would respect the will of the gods in this.”

“But you see, that’s exactly what I did.  I had the blessing of Olene herself.  Last night, I dreamt-”

Belle grimaces in disgust.  “Oh, spare me that nonsense.  Cleric Victurnien, the gods do not come to us in our dreams with- with relationship advice.”

“My dear lady, that only shows how little you know Olene,” Victurnien replies with maddening sensibility, “I have it on her authority that-”

Belle waves her hands as if batting away flies.  “I don’t want to hear it!  Whatever message from the heavens you think you’ve received, forget it.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin is a _married man_.  How can you, his greatest admirer, not know that?”

She expects a pale of horror to wash over Victurnien’s face.  Instead, he simply looks puzzled.  “You believe he is married, my lady?”

“I know he is.  He told me himself.”

Victurnien squints.  “He said that exactly?”

Anger at his inane questions surges, but Belle forces herself to recall the moment in the sitting room, the day before their fateful visit to the library.  “He... he talked about his wife.  Mentioned her.  He has a wife, that’s all that matters.”

“He _had_ a wife, my lady.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin is a widower.  Tragic.”

It’s Belle’s turn to stare in puzzlement.  “What?”

Victurnien holds up his hands.  “I’m afraid it’s not my place to discuss the matter.  The loss of his family is a terrible burden on our brave Sir Rumpel, and not to be made the subject of speculation.  But, my lady,” his voice takes a chiding tone as he peers at Belle, “I must admit I’m disappointed that you would think so little of me, and of our goddess Olene.  Both of us only want what’s best for you.  And, dare I say, if you truly believed it to be such nonsense, would you be quite so... passionate about it?”

He taps his lips with a thoughtful hum and sidles around Belle, who can only stand paralyzed by indignation and burgeoning curiosity, neither of which she can satisfy.  Victurnien is right, damn him.  She refuses to speculate about...  Rumpelstiltskin’s family.  Not just his wife.  Victurnien said he lost his _family_.  Sympathetic grief swirls through Belle, leaving her tired and shaken.  She wanders back to the festival, and hardly sees the revelry around her as she goes to the only place she wants to be.

“Belle, are you all right?” Colette asks.

Thankfully there’s an empty chair beside her mother for Belle to drop into.  She attempts a smile and reaches for Colette’s hand.  “Yes, I’m- I’m fine.  How are you?”

“Fine, dear.  Eager for the feast.”

Rumpelstiltskin said he and Colette had similar experiences.  Belle assumed he meant dealing with ogres.  They both lost spouses.  She looks through the crowd to the opposite side of the square and glimpses Rumpelstiltskin sitting among the widowers.  Was he there the whole time before the circle dance, while Belle was too busy to notice?  She doesn’t even know if she should feel guilty for that or not.  It’s not as if he offered the whole story.  But then, it’s not as if she asked.  It doesn’t matter, she tells herself.  It makes absolutely no difference whether he’s married or a widower or a monk or a wizard.  None at all.

For a moment the crowd parts and Rumpelstiltskin casts a glance across the square.  He gives Belle that crooked smile of his, and something flutters in her stomach.  She manages a short wave, just so he knows she’s not upset with him.  It must have seemed like she’d gone mad, grabbing Victurnien at the end of the dance and stomping off without a word.  Hardly dignified.  She’ll have to talk to him.  Apologize.  Later.

For now, she devotes herself to keeping her cherished mother company, no matter how high Colette may raise her eyebrow.

At one point Brevet comes by, almost gleaming in his polished and laundered uniform.  The smell of moss paste about him is hardly noticeable.  “My ladies, good day to you.”

“Hello, Raoul,” Colette smiles up at him, “I’m glad you spared a moment from the wall.”

Belle perks up at the remark.  “Nothing to report, I assume.”

Brevet nods firmly.  “All quiet.  And the coming watch shifts have been reminded they’re to stay out of the chouchen.”

“Poor souls,” Colette says, “However, sacrifices must be made.” 

“War is hell,” Brevet intones grimly.

Colette chuckles and sips her lemonade, while all of their gazes travel in the wall’s direction.  They have reason to be hopeful today.  That doesn’t make them safe.  Belle decides to stay for the whole festival, and ensure that every watch member arrives sober.

The feast begins not long afterwards, and Belle fetches plates for her and Colette.  Arnaud begged to take a few boats out for a brief fishing trip the day before- with the moss applied to the wall Belle couldn’t quite justify denying him.  Today she’s glad she didn’t as she piles three seasoned filets on Colette’s plate and walks back to their seats.

“That is spectacular!” Colette exclaims after her first bite, “Oh, how I missed fish.”

Her happiness warms Belle, letting her set aside doleful musings on Rumpelstiltskin’s past.  The music continues and after Belle’s eaten her fill she joins the dancers, at least for songs that ask for more enthusiasm than grace.  The circle dance is as intricate as Belle’s two left feet can manage.  But for now she bounces along, spotting Verna and catching hold of her hand as they spin.  All the dark years melt away under the shining sun.  Belle shuts her eyes and imagines she’ll look over to find both of her parents sitting together, wearing indulgent smiles.

She lets the bittersweet fantasy fade by the end of the dance, and returns to Colette.  The sun has begun to sink and her mother sits back with a yawn.

“Ready to turn in, Mother?” Belle inquires.

“I suppose.  Shame to miss so much of the festival though.”

“Next year.  You’ll dance the night away then.”  Just for today, she’ll let herself plan that far into the future.

“Indeed I will.”  Colette rises and Belle swiftly comes to her side with a supporting arm.  They bid the other widows a good evening before making their way out of the square.

A healer meets them outside the lord’s chambers.  “Did you have a pleasant day, my ladies?”

“Very much so,” Colette replies, “But I’m a little worn out.”

“Of course.  Time for a nice rest.”

Colette nods and slips her arm from Belle’s.  “You’ll need to enjoy the rest of the festival for me, darling.  No sneaking off to hole up in your office and work.”

Belle smiles as if she has no plans at all to monitor the watch like a hawk.  “As you say, Mother.”

Colette gives her a suspicious squint, but lets the healer guide her into the lord’s chambers.  “And wish Sir Rumpel a good night for me, will you?” she throws over her shoulder.

Belle hasn’t managed to think up a response before the door shuts.  She returns to the square, slowing as she realizes she probably shouldn’t join the widows without Colette.  Thankfully Verna waves her over before she feels any more awkward.  She doesn’t exactly feel less awkward, sitting with Verna’s friends.  She stays mostly quiet and meets curious glances with a smile.

As the shadows grow long and the day’s heat abates fires are lit in free-standing braziers around the square.  Verna and the other maids excuse themselves to clean up the remains of the feast.  Belle would offer to help, but they’ve been subjected to the presence of the lady of Collioure long enough and she instead takes a chair to the brazier nearest to the wall.  The evening watch soon travels past, nodding to her as they go.  Belle returns their nods while examining their every move for signs of drunkenness.

Someone stops near her and Belle turns to see Rumpelstiltskin offering her a blanket.  “The watch take their duty very seriously,” he says.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Belle replies as she takes the blanket and bundles herself in it.

“May I join you?”

“Of course.”  Her stomach does that fluttery thing again while Rumpelstiltskin fetches his own chair and settles by the fire.  She’s reminded of how they sat at his fire outside the wall and talked, back when he thought she was a maid, and she thought he was an enemy.  “Have you enjoyed the festival?”

He nods with a smile.  “Very much.  Though I’ll need to read up on Olene.  I felt a little under-informed.”

Belle shrugs.  “She’s our goddess of marriage, hope for the future, that sort of thing.”

“Ah, marriage.  That- makes sense.”

Belle stares deep into the fire as if it will somehow burn away her embarrassment at how she behaved after the circle dance.  She still has to apologize, but the words refuse to come.

“You know, uh, I believe I’ve misled you, unintentionally.  I’d like to set the record straight.”

That drags Belle’s attention to him.  “You don’t owe me anything.  I know all I need to know.”

“Perhaps.  But if I want you to know more, would you listen?”

His face is unreadable.  All Belle can do is sit up in her chair and nod.

He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.  “I’m the son of a wastrel.  A cruel, shallow cheat and a coward.  The best thing my father did was abandon me as a boy.  I never knew my mother.  I grew up in a poor but loving home, though I could never escape my father’s well-earned shame.  When I was called to war, I saw it as my chance to finally prove I was... better than him.  But then, as you know, something even more unlikely happened.  And in an instant, my whole life changed.  Before I knew it I was swept off to meet King Stefan of the Frontlands and be knighted.  I had no idea my wife had given birth until our son was... perhaps eight months old.”

He falls silent, clearly lost in a flood of memories.  Belle waits for him to continue, barely breathing.

“I managed to beg a little time away from my training, to meet him.  Baelfire.  My son.  He was beautiful.  Perfect.  I almost stayed.  Almost gave it all up there and then.  But something changed my mind.  Not sure what...”  His expression turns dark with bitter guilt.  “No, that’s a lie.  It was the fame, the power- even the magic.  I liked being strong.  Respected.  Every day I told myself I was becoming a better man than my father.  That I was protecting my son from the shame I’d known.  In truth, I was so busy building a name for myself that, in the end, that’s all I was to Baelfire.  A name.  I think if you add up my visits home- a week here, a month there- I might have spent two years in my son’s company.  Two, of the seven that he lived.”

Belle’s heart aches as she waits for the story’s dismal conclusion.

Rumpelstiltskin’s face is carved in sorrow and he blinks away tears.  In a dull voice he says, “A plague came through our village.  Carried in from the port.  Nearly every household lost someone.  My wife was among the first to pass away.  Milah’s love for me had withered in my absence, but she kept our house and raised our son.  I’m grateful to her.  And I mourn her.  I made it back before the plague took Baelfire.  He was already sick, but he rallied for a short time.  I know it’s monstrous to say, but those last weeks with him were... they were the best of my life.”

Rumpelstiltskin heaves a breath, but Belle knows nothing will dislodge the knot of pain in his chest.

“After he... I left.  For good, the village wasn’t my home anymore, if it ever had been.  I followed the orders of the king, wherever they led.  He’d lease me out, you see, sell my services to whoever could pay for them.  When the ogres invaded the Marshlands in earnest, King Xavier hired me on to his company of knights.  So, here I am.”  He drags a hand through his hair and gives her a tired grin.  “And now you see me plain, my lady.  Hardly heroic, I know.”

Belle considers him for a moment.  “I see... I see a man who’s made bad choices.  But, I think you’ve learned from them.”

A corner of his mouth rises.  “That is the hope.”

“The only real hope we have,” Belle concurs, “The only way we can decide our fate.  We look at where we are, and look at what brought us here, and we try to find the best path forward.  It’s not always easy, but it’s what we must do.”

Rumpelstiltskin nods with a pensive gaze still fixed on Belle.  “You know, I’ve met more than my share of leaders.  Kings, queens, sultans, lords, chiefs.  Not many can claim your wisdom.”

Belle ducks her head to hide hot cheeks.  “Well, thank my parents and tutors for that.  They worked hard enough to educate me.”

“No, it’s more than that.”  Belle glances up and her gaze catches on Rumpelstiltskin’s.  “They could’ve given the same lessons to a cat, it wouldn’t have made a leader.  How you interpret and put into practice what you learned- that’s what counts.  Action.  Intent is meaningless.  I know only too many who would smother themselves in noble intentions, rather than act, and face down challenges as you have.”

“When the choice is act or die...  Well, you know what that’s like.”

“Aye.”

Belle allows herself a soft smile before turning her attention to the fire, watching sparks fly up into the air.  Rumpelstiltskin stays at her side- a quiet, stable presence.  And still a mystery, even after sharing his story.  Belle wonders how much more she’ll get to learn before he leaves Collioure.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK OUT [WONDERFUL COVER ART](https://beastlycheese.tumblr.com/post/158964658889/whose-fic-am-i-fangirling-about-today-i-dont) BY [beastlycheese](https://beastlycheese.tumblr.com)

Belle might have worried the festival would leave her people overly relaxed and content.  On the contrary, the day of peace and hope seems to re-energize them.  She decides to let a couple of boats continue fishing once a week to bolster their food supply.  Rumpelstiltskin continues working with the archers, and reports that their skills improve every day.

One evening Belle sets aside her work and goes to the lord’s chambers for supper with Colette.  However, when she knocks, her mother opens the door herself with a faint smile.  “Hello, dear.  There’s something I’d like for us to do before we eat, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.  What is it?”

Colette seems to draw her strength up before replying, “I’d like to visit your father’s grave.”

Belle’s stomach drops.  She’s told her mother where Maurice was buried and asked once before if Colette like to see it, but received a delicate head-shake in reply.  Belle was shamefully relieved at the time.  “Right.  Well.  Yes, you should visit.  Shall I come along?”

She doesn’t even know what answer she prefers, but regardless Colette says, “You’re welcome to join me.”

Belle moves to Colette’s side as she steps out of her chambers and they loop arms to begin walking.  With the silence weighing heavier with each step, Belle begins nattering, “We couldn’t bury him in the lord’s yard, you see, we wanted to, we would’ve, but-”

“I know, dear.  The wall.”

Construction of their defense traced along a ridge within the eastern woods that cut the village off from the graveyard where the dead had been interred for six generations.  Nothing less than personal prayers and blessings from Victurnien reassured the people as the bodies of their loved ones were burned instead of buried.  Belle took the risk of inciting a great deal of resentment when she chose to bury Maurice’s body, but thankfully the people cherished his memory almost as much as she did.  If anyone felt his body should have burned like the others, they kept it to themselves.

Belle and Colette carry on to the courtyard, traveling to the far corner that’s now shaded with vibrant green leaves.  Their glow reflects on Maurice’s grave stone.

Colette points to a small patch beside it where new grass has only just sprouted.  “I suppose that’s where they put my marker.”

“Yes,” Belle replies, glad that someone had the presence of mind to remove it.  Miserable guilt wells up in her nonetheless, making her shoulders slump and her head hang.  “I’m sorry,” she mutters into her chest, “We shouldn’t have assumed you were dead.  We should’ve looked for you sooner.  You never would’ve been trapped there for so long, if... 

Colette slips her arm free and wraps it around Belle, pulling her close and hushing her gently.  “You did what you thought was best.  That’s all I expect.”

But is that what she did?  After Maurice died, in the bleak winter that followed, there were less than ten attacks.  The risk of searching the library was minimal.  But Belle’s fear was monumental.  If she’d only been braver, or at least more dutiful, she could have saved Colette so much suffering.  She’s too ashamed to admit it out loud, and so just burrows her head against Colette’s neck and clings to her.  _She’s here now_ , Rumpelstiltskin’s words echo to her.  In the end, that’s what matters.

“Maurice...” Colette murmurs, “He passed quickly?”

“He did.  I don’t think he was conscious at all after the accident.”  Belle squeezes her eyes shut against the images that cruelly flash in her mind- the torn and bleeding skin, Maurice’s distorted skull, his limp hand growing cold in hers.

Colette nods, heaving a ragged breath.  “Gods, I... I _knew_ I’d see him again.  I didn’t believe it, I _knew_ it.  How could I be wrong?”

In this private, leafy place, Belle finally surrenders to the choking ache in her throat, allowing a harsh sob to burst out of her.  Tears spill instantly, flowing down her cheeks to wash Colette’s neck.  Grief consumes her for a time- grief for her mistakes, for her cowardice, for every moment her family has spent and will spend separated from each other.

When the storm abates, she finds Colette has lowered them to kneel in the grass.  She rubs Belle’s back, but her own heavy sobs stop her from providing more comfort.  Belle guides Colette’s head to rest on her shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Mother,” she whispers, the only words that can express anything even approaching what she feels.

Colette cries herself out in Belle’s arms, and the peace of the courtyard returns.  Until they hear the watch’s warning trumpets.

Every muscle in both of their bodies tenses.  Colette lifts her head, revealing a tear-streaked rictus of terror.  “N-no, no, no, no-no-no...”

Fighting through her own fear, Belle grips Colette and starts to rise, injecting calm into her voice to say, “We need to take shelter, Mother.  We’ll be safe, I promise.  There are just two of them, you remember the trumpet code.  We’ll go to the long house with the other women-”

“No!” Colette grabs Belle’s shoulders, fixing panicked eyes on her, “It’s not safe!  It can’t- please, _please_ , Belle, we have to- have to- I can’t- they’ll come...”  Her words falter to rattling, uneven breaths.

Belle’s mind races to think of somewhere Colette will feel protected.  “Breathe, just breathe, Mother, it will be all right.  Come with me.  Please.”

She pulls Colette up and heads out of the courtyard.  She chooses to believe her council and Rumpelstiltskin know how to manage without her- Colette is her only concern.  And there is only one place that might allow her to calm.  They walk out of the castle on the sea side, weaving between running villagers.  Women and children already stream to the long house.  Belle guides Colette away from there and over to the east where the coast turns rocky.  They come to the sea cave and carefully climb down the sloped entrance, still not daring to loosen their grips on each other.

Belle eases Colette around the enchanted hole and ventures deeper into the cave.  Soon they are surrounded by the sweetly metallic scent of moss.  “There, smell that?” Belle whispers, “The moss.  They won’t come here.  You know that.  They can’t.  We’re safe here.”

An ounce of tension drains from Colette.  She manages a deep if shaky breath.  “Yes.  We’ll stay here.  They won’t come.”  She wraps herself around Belle and they huddle in the darkness of the cave.

Belle squeezes her tight, trying to will peace into her trembling body, wondering if Colette will ever know true peace again.  Perhaps it’s too late for everyone, and all of Collioure will spend their lives waiting for danger to strike.  Belle drags in a deep breath of her own to clear her head.  This is the time she needs all her strength.  She’ll dwell on her despair later.

Minutes crawl by so slowly Belle expects it to be after dark by the time the watch signals the end of the attack.  She’s heard some faint bellows on the wind, but that’s all.  She shifts a little but Colette’s grip tightens.  “No!” she cries against Belle’s shoulder, “No, don’t, it’s not safe out there.  Stay.  Please.”

“Mother, did you hear the trumpets?” Belle asks gently, “That means the danger has passed.”

Colette just shakes her head.  “No.  No, no, no...”

Belle can’t bring herself to force Colette to her feet.  And she would never dream of leaving her mother in this place.  She’s stuck, waiting for Colette’s terror to fade. 

At one point she hears footsteps at the cave’s entrance.  Colette flinches and whimpers before Belle calls out, “Who’s there?”

Rumpelstiltskin appears, carefully negotiating the uneven terrain.  “Just me.  Someone said you’d been seen on the sea side, but you weren’t in the long house.  I thought you might be in here.”

Belle bends to Colette’s ear and murmurs, “It’s Rumpelstiltskin, Mother.  He’s come to find us.”

Colette’s head rises slightly.  “Sir Rumpel?  W-what’s happened?”

Rumpelstiltskin crouches down a few feet from them.  “All is well, my lady.  A pair of adolescent ogres showed up.  However, they never even entered the ruins.”  He grins crookedly, “I believe they didn’t like the smell of the place.”

Belle lets out a small laugh that’s half relief and half pride.  “Did you hear that, Mother?  Your moss scared them away.  You kept all of us safe.”

Colette straightens, looking confused more than anything.  “Oh.  How nice.”

“Would you like to go back to your chambers?” Belle asks.

“I, ah, I suppose so.  If- if it is _very_ certain that... that...”

“The forest is quiet,” Rumpelstiltskin says, “And judging by the size of our visitors, I doubt they could even throw anything higher than the wall.  Now they’ll go back to their mates and tell them all not to bother with this stinky little village.”

Belle chuckles again as she imagines a horde of ogres literally turning their noses up at Collioure.  Rumpelstiltskin throws her a wink.

“A-all right then,” Colette says, “Yes, let’s- let’s go.”

“Only if you’re ready, Mother,” Belle assures her.

“I am.”  Her voice is soft, but steady.  She rises with Belle and they follow Rumpelstiltskin out of the cave.

As they walk down the slope toward the dock, women emerging from the long house stop and cry out to Rumpelstiltskin.  In seconds they’re flocking to him, leaving Belle and Colette to hurry out of the way or risk being shoved aside.  Colette shrinks against Belle, who wraps a protective arm around her and quickly walks them toward the castle.  On the way, her ears catch scattered mentions of “Sir Rumpel’s moss.”

Once they’ve returned to the lord’s chambers, Belle tucks Colette into bed and sits on the edge.  “Have a rest now,” she says, “I’ll tell Susanne to bring up your supper in a little while.”

“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Colette murmurs, face creased in a frown.

Belle reaches out to hold her hand.  “You are not trouble.  Every moment I have with you is a gift.  I’ll take all I can get.”  Tears spring to her eyes and she blinks them away.

“But they might have needed you,” Colette protests, “If the horde had been bigger...”

“All of Collioure knows what to do during an attack.  I trust them to handle things correctly.  That said, if there is an attack and I’m not with you, can you go to the sea cave alone?  It will help me to know you’re there, where it’s safe, where I can find you when it’s over.”

She nods.  “I will.”

Belle smiles.  “Good.  Rest now.”

“All right.”

Giving her hand one last squeeze, Belle stands and exits the room, mind whirring with plans for other places the moss should be applied as soon as possible.  The hospital first, of course.  And also the long house.  And the common house.  Perhaps, if there is a more serious attack, the moss could be weaponized somehow.  She recalls the practice arrows from the archers’ training lesson she attended, tipped with bulbs of powder.  She meant to check in with Brevet and confirm Rumpelstiltskin’s report, but instead her steps veer toward the library.

She finds Bernard’s book of martial history returned to its place on the shelf.  Carrying it under an arm, she goes to the alcove, pausing when she finds Rumpelstiltskin crouched before the hearth.  “Looking for peace and quiet again?” she inquires, and smirks as he shoots upright and whips around to face her.

Surprise gives way quickly to slumped shoulders and a guilty grimace directed at the floor.  “Yes, I...  I didn’t want to cause any more of a stir.  People should... should be at home, calming down, returning to normal.  There’s no reason to pay attention to me.”

“And yet...”

Frustration fills Rumpelstiltskin’s face and he lets out a gusty sigh.  “And yet it’s happening all over again,” he exclaims.

“What is?” Belle asks, though she could wager a guess.

“The same old thing.  I ride in on a mission and find the problem nearly solved by the locals, often the women.  I help put one or two final pieces together and suddenly I’m the great savior!  Praised far and wide for things I had nothing to do with.  Gods know how many stories are floating around about me without a scrap of truth in them.  I’m not a man, I’m an entertainment.”  He sighs again and his grimace is directed inward.  “I’m sorry, Belle.  Listen to me, carrying on about all this inconvenient glory.  What an ass I am.”

Belle steps forward and lays a hand on Rumpelstiltskin’s arm.  “People like a story.  A simple story with a beginning, middle, and end.  They like a valiant hero defeating the forces of evil.  It’s always been that way, and reality has always been much more complicated.  Very few have the time or interest in understanding the whole picture.  The moss is my mother’s discovery, that’s true.  But it might have died with her if she’d never been rescued.  And that wouldn’t have happened without you.”

Rumpelstiltskin winces and tilts his head.  “You would’ve found a way.”

Belle shrugs a shoulder.  “Perhaps.  But that doesn’t change what you did.  In any case, the last thing my mother needs right now are crowds of people demanding her attention, even in praise.”  She gives his arm a gentle wag while she asks, “You’ll protect her, won’t you?”

The grimace falls to an ironic smile.  “Aye, my lady, to my last breath,” he declares gallantly.

Belle lets out a chuckle, only noticing as it fades and silence stretches between them that she hasn’t let go of Rumpelstiltskin yet.  And she doesn’t particularly want to.

But she must.  So she does, stepping away to one of the chairs by the hearth and sitting down.  “I was thinking about how the moss might be used more actively against the ogres.  I was going to do some research on that.  Did you bring something to read?”

“I’ve the Enzo with me.  I’ll just...”  He returns to working on his half-built fire in the hearth.

Belle watches him bent over there for a moment or two before blinking away and opening the Bernard.  When warmth radiates from the hearth, Rumpelstiltskin takes the chair beside her.  They read together in peace.


	25. Chapter 25

****“‘Ride for the village, and don’t look back,’ Gideon commanded, and raced into the musty darkness of the sorcerer’s castle.’”  Belle closes _Her Handsome Hero_ , and looks down at Cyril, whose blank gaze seems to be fixed on a crack in the ceiling.  “That’s the end of chapter eighteen.  I’ll be sure to come back soon, Cyril.  You won’t believe what happens next.”

She gives his shoulder a squeeze and departs from the hospital.  She’s only a few steps outside when she hears trumpets from the wall.  Her heart clenches an instant before she realizes that they didn’t play the tune to signal an attack.  She’s not sure what they signaled.  Brow furrowed, she strides in the wall’s direction and finds a watch member already clambering down the rope ladder.

“What is it?” she asks when he drops to the ground and staggers upright.

“My lady,” he gasps, “The army- we see it- the king’s army is here!  Maybe two miles out, following the river.”

Belle’s breath escapes her in a quiet, “Oh.”  Her mind is blank- as if she never quite believed this day would come, and so never planned what she would do.  “I...  I must find Captain Brevet.  Do you know where he is?”

“Inspecting the new bows, I think, with the carpenters.”

“Good, thank you.  Go on then, keep your post.”

“Yes, my lady.”  He jogs to the ladder and scrambles back up.

Throwing decorum aside, Belle hoists up her skirts and bolts for the carpenters’ shop.  She bursts through the door to find Brevet running a thumb along the grain of a bow.  Before she can speak, he squints and says, “The army has arrived.”

Belle swallows and gasps out, “Yes.  The watch spotted them a moment ago.”

“We must meet with their commander.  We’ll wait outside the wall.  Come, I’ll assemble a guard for us.”

“Sir Rumpelstiltskin must join us.”

“Right.  I’ll have him fetched.”

Soon, Belle, Brevet, Rumpelstiltskin, and four soldiers step through the gate and out into the ruins.  The watch and archers line the wall above.  Belle can see movement through the forest by the river- swaying spears and the midday sun glinting off armor and shields.  She spots a few officers on horseback, one of whom urges their steed faster, galloping the rest of the way across the farmers’ fields and up through the ruins.  The rider wears armor Belle hasn’t seen outside of a very particular book, and their face beneath their helmet is obscured by a hanging drape of chain mail. 

They stop and dismount several steps away, and Belle’s notices they seem to be no taller than Rumpelstiltskin- that, or their horse is gigantic.  Regardless, she takes a breath and straightens her back, chin lifted to meet the army’s commander with all the pride of Collioure.

The rider approaches, removing their helmet as they walk.  A woman’s face is revealed, with tan skin, dark eyes, and thick hair braided back.  Belle almost wonders if this is some sort of joke before Rumpelstiltskin says, “Lieutenant Fa, good to see you again.”

The woman nods with a faint smile and tiny sparkle in her eyes.  “It’s Captain now, Sir Rumpel.  Good to see you too.”  She turns her attention to Belle.  “Are you the governor of Collioure?”

“I am.  Thank you for coming.”  She dips into a small courtesy.

Captain Fa performs a simple bow.  “If only we’d arrived sooner.  My company will make up for that error to the best of our abilities.”

Belle blinks, surprised she acknowledged Collioure’s abandonment at all.  Meanwhile, her mouth runs unsupervised, “You’re rather... young for a captain.”

Captain Fa lifts an eyebrow.  “You’re rather... young for a governor.”

They regard each other, two women navigating separate worlds that weren’t built for them.  Belle is the first to smile, and receives a smile in return.  “Will you come inside?” Belle asks, “We can discuss what needs to be done.”

“Of course.”

Rumpelstiltskin steps forward.  “I’ll stay out here, if you don’t mind, my lady.  I need to tell Captain Fa’s sergeant about the traps.”

“Very well.”  She begins leading Captain Fa to the gate while making introductions between her and Brevet.

They go to a little-used meeting room that has a long table bearing a large map of Collioure and the surrounding countryside and coast.

Captain Fa peers down at it curiously while Belle points out specific features.  “If at all possible,” Belle says, “It might be wise to send a large force here, twelve miles northwest.  There’s a cave there where a horde of ogres has a nest.”

“Did one of your scouts report this?”

“Ah, no,” Belle replies, feeling suddenly bashful, “The ogres there have abducted- certain people, and carried them back alive, to feed their young.”

Both of Captain Fa’s eyebrows jump.  “And these people escaped?”

“Yes.  Um, I should probably mention those people were myself, my mother the Lady Colette, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin.  Several weeks ago.”

Captain Fa looks equally surprised and impressed.  “Well, you’ll have to share that tale with me later.  For now, do you know how big the horde is?”

“My mother would, possibly.  She was- trapped in their cave for a number of months.”

Captain Fa’s eyes widen a hair.  “I see.”

“While she was there, she discovered a kind of moss that the ogres find repellent.  Perhaps you noticed the gray color on the wall.  Or the smell.”

A corner of Captain Fa’s mouth tilts up before she tactfully says, “I wasn’t going to mention it.  But that’s very interesting.  Ogre-repelling moss.  I’d like to learn more about it soon.”  She returns her attention to the map.  After a moment, she remarks in a voice low enough for Belle to think she’s talking to herself, “So, no landslide at all.”

“That’s what Sir Gaston said, isn’t it?” Belle asks, unable to keep the raw bitterness from her voice.  “Was he questioned, like Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s letter suggested?  Do you know?”

“I heard there was some conjecture about his report,” Captain Fa replies guardedly, “I believe his position was that he gave an honest account, and if your situation changed after he left, he had no way to know.”

Belle’s blood boils.  She presses her lips together hard, clinging to dignity.  Beside her, Brevet’s hands tighten to fists.  She speaks in a voice as hard as iron, “It is my position that Sir Gaston’s report and his testimony are a pack of lies.”

Captain Fa nods solemnly.  “Do you intend to charge him formally with dereliction of his duty?”

“Assuming we survive the summer, yes.”

“Then I’ll make every effort to assure we do,” she says, and Belle dares to think there’s a tiny spark of righteous anger beneath her neutral expression.  Perhaps she’s encountered Gaston’s foul behavior herself.

“Right,” Brevet says, “And what does ‘every effort’ mean exactly?”

Captain Fa goes over the ranks and skills of her soldiers and their equipment.  As Rumpelstiltskin described, her footmen carry spears and curved shields, and she also has a contingent of archers.  “I noticed your own squadron on the wall.”

“Sir Rumpel’s students,” Brevet says, “We’ve already had two kills from them.  And there’s archers among my company.”

“Excellent.  We’ll combine our forces.  And my soldiers can take some watch shifts, give your people more time with their families.  I do wonder about the wall, though.”  Belle’s stomach goes cold.  “There is only that one entrance?”

“It had to be secure,” she replies, voice already straining to hide panic.

“Naturally.  But now you’ll have three lines of armed and ready soldiers.  You can-”

“The archers,” Belle interrupts, “Don’t you want to have a full line on top of the wall?  And you just said your men would join the watch.  There can’t be a watch without watch posts, surely you know that.”

Her highly salient points are only met with a tilt of Captain Fa’s head.  “If a large horde comes, I just don’t like the idea of my soldiers being pinned against the wall, you see?”

“So instead my people should be put at grave risk if your soldiers fail?  It’s been decided, captain.  We’ve gone this long without being overrun, I will not leave Collioure open to attack.”

“You would never be open to attack.  I have a thousand trained soldiers who would not stop until the ogres were dead.”

“Then they can do so in the ruins and the fields.  It’s called maneuvering, have you heard of it?”

Brevet clears his throat.  “Perhaps we can discuss this another time.  What else do you need, Captain Fa?”

Belle does her best to pay attention to the logistics of the army making camp outside Collioure, but her thoughts keep circling around everyone’s determination to demolish the wall.  They would all be dead without it, can’t they see?  Is she the only person truly concerned with protecting the village?

Around her, it’s determined that the army’s horses will be brought inside the wall while their carts of food and supplies remain outside.  Captain Fa will live in the camp, and will attend regular council meetings.  Outside of those meetings, any other updates will come to Belle via a messenger.  Minor injuries incurred by the soldiers will be treated in the camp while severely injured soldiers will be taken to the hospital.  It’s agreed that fresh water will be delivered to the camp twice a day.

All of this activity will be conducted through the gate.  Belle can feel this fact weighing on every decision.  She stands firm.  Her village’s safety is worth a little inconvenience.  A quiet thought whispers in the back of her mind that it’ll be more than inconvenient to a dying soldier.  She pushes it away.  No one joins an army without knowing the risks involved.  Collioure will be safe.  This is her duty above all else.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: another recollection of Gaston’s creepiness here.

The village hums with excitement after the army’s arrival.  Belle understands her people’s curiosity, but decides to maintain the law that no one goes outside the wall without permission.  Immediately the maids that carry water out gain a revered status for the bits of information they can share.  The messenger Captain Fa sends to update Belle is ambushed and interrogated for a full twenty minutes before being allowed to go on his way.  Belle hears rumors that the castle’s scullions are selling chances to sneak up the broken tower and catch a glimpse of the camp.  Belle knows the villagers’ interest won’t last, as well as she knows their safety must be ensured.

It would be nice if she could enjoy that safety, now their long-awaited help has arrived.  But she’s anxious instead.  Something about the sounds of the camp, just outside, where once there was nothing but the ruins’ grave silence.  She always flinches as she approaches the wall for her daily inspection, before she can remind herself who’s out there.

Belle wonders if she would feel better if she did something to improve her personal safety.  Her mind flashes to the moment Gaston stormed out of her chambers, and she cowered behind a corner, heart thundering with fear as she prayed he wouldn’t find her.  She remembers her first visits to Rumpelstiltskin out in the ruins, how she could only rely on the speed of the soldiers at the gate or the reflexes of their few archers on the wall to protect her, if he chose to attack.  She had Brevet’s dagger then- one risky option for defense.  She told him she had an academic sense of its use.  The same could be said for a sword or a spear or her own fists.  That’s not acceptable anymore.

Rumpelstiltskin has begun making a habit of spending an hour or so in the library every evening.  If she has no other work, Belle usually joins him after supper with Colette, often dropping wordlessly into her chair by the hearth and opening her book.  Perhaps exchanging a smile.  This evening she walks in with empty hands and leans one hip very casually against the back of her chair instead of sitting.

Rumpelstiltskin looks up at her with a tinge of confusion in his customary smile.  “Hiya,” he says.

“Hey.  So, I was wondering.  Um, what training do you have, exactly?  Fighting and weapons, and all that.”

His confusion grows, but he straightens in his seat while considering the question.  “Well, the king’s squire master stuck a sword in my hand straight away.  Then a bow.  After that, I picked up whatever anyone would teach me.  Staff fighting.  Grappling.  The dagger.”

“You can use a dagger?” Belle lets out a small laugh, “You did well not to mock me then, when we... when I came to you.”

“You mean in your clever disguise?” he inquires, one eyebrow raised.

Belle’s laughter grows in strength and awkwardness.  She doesn’t regret her deception, but that doesn’t make her proud of it.  “Were you fooled for even a moment?”

“Would you believe I was?” Rumpelstiltskin shoots back, “Anyway, I knew whatever else you were, you were also a terrified young woman.  Who might well choose to make use of that blade she was brandishing if I gave her a reason.”

Belle rolls her eyes, “Flatterer.”

He grins, “Truly!  Though, holding the blade like that,” he raises his fist so his forearm is parallel to the floor, “It’s good for intimidation, but not really for beginners.”

“What is good for beginners?”

“Well, ah...” He frowns slightly, “Why the sudden interest, if I may ask?”

Belle shrugs, arms crossing tight over her chest, “Why not?  It’s as good a thing as any to know, how to defend oneself.”

“Aye,” Rumpelstiltskin says, voice low, eyes a little too watchful.  “Are you... interested in a lesson, my lady?”

“Yes, perhaps, if you have the time.”

“Very well.  I suppose, here, tomorrow, in the evening, if we’re not busy...”

“All right.”

“Good.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

Eventually, Belle coughs.  “I might go to bed then.  Rest up.”

Rumpelstiltskin scratches at the back of his head.  “Right.  Good night, Belle.”

“Good night, Rumpel.”  Her hand grazes his shoulder before she whips around and leaves, somehow feeling more anxious than ever.  Her thoughts never stray far from her impending lesson throughout the next day.  At supper with Colette, she goes back and forth over whether to mention it or not.  It feels like she maybe should, but she doesn’t want to.  Colette doesn’t need to know.  It doesn’t involve her.  This is just about Belle, and Rumpelstiltskin.

After supper, she stands in front of her wardrobe for far too long until she finally grabs the breeches, boots, shirt, and jerkin she wore when they searched the library.  She doesn’t want her movement hindered by skirts, of course.  She strides through the shadowy halls, steadfastly avoiding all eye-contact with anyone she passes.

“Good evening,” she addresses Rumpelstiltskin when she spots him crouched by the hearth, building the fire to a bright blaze.

He stands and turns with a smile.  “Evening,” he says, then moves to his chair where something bundled in fabric lies.  “We’re in luck.  Aside from training arrows, Brevet pointed me in the direction of these.”  He pulls the fabric aside to reveal two daggers made of wood.

“Did you tell him why you wanted them?” the question pops out of Belle almost before she thinks it.

Rumpelstiltskin looks as puzzled as she feels, “I didn’t.  Was I- supposed to?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” she mutters before reaching for one of the training daggers.  “It’s lighter than Brevet’s,” she observes, weighing it in her hand.

“I reckon my first sword was lighter than that thing,” Rumpelstiltskin quips.  His amusement fades at Belle’s blank look.  He takes the other training dagger and shoves it in his belt.  “Anyway, hold it upright, with the blade facing out.”

Belle does so, and wiggles it in Rumpelstiltskin’s direction in a pale imitation of a threat.

“That’s the idea, yes,” he says with a smile.  “So, the thing about a dagger is you need to get close to do any damage with it.  How it typically goes is you block an incoming attack and open your opponent up to your response.  It’s about speed, and precision.  How about you swing your right arm toward me, like you’re trying to punch me?  But slow, please.”

“All right.”  Belle slides the dagger into her belt and brings her fist in an arc toward Rumpelstiltskin’s head.  His left fist swings out and softly hits her forearm, nudging it off its course and pushing her slightly off balance.

“Stop there.”

She pauses.

“See?  You’re whole, ah, front is exposed.”  He pulls his dagger out delivers swift jabs at the air over her chest and stomach.  “Which brings a quick end to that encounter.  Would you like to try?”

“Sure.”  She mirrors his actions, and her stomach squirms a bit to imagine all the bloody holes she mimics putting in his body.

“There, good,” he says and steps back, “The nice thing about a dagger is it only takes one hand to use.  Attacks with a sword lose a lot of power and accuracy if you don’t use both hands.  But with the dagger you can attack and defend at the same time. Watch me.”  He moves to stab at the air in swift, crisp movements while keeping his free hand curled in a fist near his face.  “Try five of those.  Remember to bend your knees.”

Belle does so, while working the hardest at not feeling ridiculous.

“That’s very good,” Rumpelstiltskin says at the end, and she almost believes him.

He teaches her a few strikes from different angles, and how to swipe the blade to block an attack.

“That empty hand is good for grabbing your opponent’s arm as well.  If you don’t see a place to attack, make one.  Here, stab at me with your right hand.”

She does so, and he bumps it aside while his free hand grabs her left wrist and yanks her arm away from where it’s held up to protect her face.  She nearly staggers into him just before the point of his dagger appears under her chin.

The firelight flickers in the depths of his eyes as he says, “See?”

“Mmhm,” she replies, and pokes his head with the point of her raised dagger.

He glances at it, and a crooked smile stretches across his face.  Then he knocks her hand away and springs back, taking on a ready stance with his free arm guarding his side and his dagger poised to strike.  He flicks his hair away from his face and says, “You want a fight then, lass?”

With her lower lip caught between her teeth, Belle mirrors his stance.  “I might.”

“First to three strikes wins?”

“If you’re not too tired.”

Rumpelstiltskin grins all the wider.  Then he lunges forward- not a real attack, but faster than he’s come at her so far.  She moves back, and her eyes dart over his body, identifying possible targets.  He’s broader than her, if not by much.  That’s in her favor, even if experience makes him faster.  More out of curiosity than thinking she’ll score a strike, she feints toward his stomach, then twists the blade up to his shoulder as he moves to block.  To her astonishment, the point actually connects.

She covers with a smirk.  “That’s one.”

“Oh, barely,” Rumpelstiltskin gripes while his eyes glow.

When she lunges again, he performs a half-spin to her right that ends with his blade jabbing at her ribs.  “You rotten showoff,” she growls.

“That’s one for me,” he replies merrily and leaps away to regain his stance.

They exchange a few slashes, neither getting close enough to strike.  Then Rumpelstiltskin bumps into one of the chairs- at his brief distraction Belle takes her chance to dart forward, pull his free arm down, and bring the edge of her blade to his throat.  “That’s two,” she murmurs.

“So it is,” Rumpelstiltskin replies.  She’s close enough to feel his quick breath on her warming cheeks.

Belle moves away.  “You’re not going easy on me, are you?” she inquires as they slowly circle each other.

“I’m not trying to kill you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You asked if I wanted a fight.”

“And what would you consider a fight?”

“We might raise the stakes.”

“Oh?”

“If I get one more strike, you...  You’ll tell me why you came to Collioure.  You refused to answer the last time I asked.”

“I did that because I don’t give serving girls confidential messages from the king.”

Belle lets out a hard laugh.  “I _did_ fool you!”

“Anyway, fair enough.  If you get another strike, I’ll tell you.  What do I get for another strike?”

Something hot flares in Belle’s stomach as she asks, “What do you want?”

“I want... I want to know why Gaston abandoned Collioure, and lied about it after.  I’ve not figured it out yet.”

Belle almost lets her dagger fall.

Rumpelstiltskin notices immediately, lowering his own dagger and standing straight.  “You don’t have to tell me.  I’m sure I know what I need to know.  I’ll tell you the king’s message.  I should’ve done long ago.”

Belle swallows, and regains her stance, dagger pointing at Rumpelstiltskin’s eye.  “No.  If you want the answer, come and get it.”

Uncertainty still flits across his face, but he lifts his dagger again.  They spend a moment studying each other for weaknesses.  Belle tries herding him toward the chairs again, but he smoothly moves between them with a warning look.  She darts to put one chair between them and slashes out across it.  He blocks the attack, then hooks his foot on the bottom of the chair to tip it against Belle’s thighs.  As her gaze is dragged down to it and she begins to shuffle backwards, she feels a tap on the top of her head.

“Two to two,” Rumpelstiltskin says, drawing his dagger back.  He stands straight and says, “King Xavier wanted to use Collioure as a base of operations for clearing ogres from the south.  Since the village wasn’t the protected oasis Gaston made it out to be, that plan wasn’t really worth mentioning.”

“I see.”  Belle straightens as well, lifting her chin to say, “Gaston attempted to declare himself my father’s heir and my fiancé.  When my father corrected him on this matter, he...  reacted poorly.”

Disbelief and revulsion tighten Rumpelstiltskin’s face.  “Gods above.  So, he wasn’t given Collioure and _you_ on a platter, and therefore decided to throw it all to the ogres?”

“Well, he did attempt to take matters into his own hands first.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

Belle bites her tongue as the black fog sweeps in again.  However, a bet is a bet- she won’t mar it with dishonesty.  “After being refused by my father, I saw him leave, and I followed him without his knowledge.  I followed him to my chambers.  He went inside, without knocking.  He left after a little while, and never came back.”

Icy silence fills the room.  Belle finds she’s glad this isn’t the first time she’s related her sorry tale.  She might not have gotten the words out at all if it was.

“I’ll see him hanged for this,” Rumpelstiltskin rasps.

“No.  You won’t.”

“Why?”

“I can prove that Gaston lied about Collioure’s condition.  If the testimony of an entire village isn’t enough, nothing is.  But otherwise, Gaston isn’t truly guilty of any crime against me greater than- an impertinence.”

“But he-”

She holds up a hand, “I know.  Trust me, Rumpel, I know.  But I was the only witness.  It would be my word against his.  And, in the end, you can’t punish someone for a crime they didn’t commit.  That’s the plain truth, damn it all.”

He lowers his head with a sigh.  “I’m sorry, Belle.  None of this should’ve happened.  Gaston is...  I know you’ve no reason to believe it, but a knight is meant to hold himself to a higher standard.  All that business about honor and duty and loyalty, I swear it does matter.  It _should_ matter, anyway.”

Belle nods, her own gaze lowered.  “I believe you,” she murmurs.

She looks up to watch him blink at her.  “You do?”

Belle steps closer.  “Or, let’s say I believe _in_ you, Sir Rumpelstiltskin.”

There’s that crooked smile again, the one that now warms her from head to toe.  Her hand finds its way into his, and she probably means to thank him for the lesson, but the words get lost as the idea of pulling him closer appears in her head.  Her pulse jumps and she’s halfway to going ahead and seeing what might happen when she comes to her senses.  What kind of person is she, to have an urge like that not a moment after talking about what Gaston did?  What would Rumpelstiltskin think of her?

She curtseys swiftly and mumbles, “Good night then.”

He shakes his head slightly as if emerging from a daydream and performs a short bow.  “Uh, yes, good night.”

Belle lets go and hurries from the library, hand unconsciously clenching to retain some of his warmth.


	27. Chapter 27

Belle is reviewing her reports before noon when there’s a knock on the office door.  “Come in,” she calls, and glances up as Brevet enters, looking even more solemn than usual.

“My lady, the guard has made an arrest.”

That draws Belle’s attention away from the reports.  “What’s happened?”

Brevet’s eyebrows raise as he says, “Ah, well, it seems while the maids were assembling their water buckets, a man shoved his way through them and ran out the gate.  The watch says he jogged round outside for a few minutes, then came back in and surrendered to the guard.  Didn’t say anything, or put up any fight.”

Belle squints at Brevet.  “Why on Earth would he do- _any_ of that?”

“Suppose you could ask at his trial.  It was your law he broke.”

Brevet, Martine, and Arnaud deal with most of the crimes in Collioure.  Trials are rare, and Belle only has authority to act as judge when someone goes against an edict she made herself.  “I suppose I will, “ she replies, “Schedule it for this evening.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Brevet departs, and Belle is left to stew in puzzlement as she tries to get more work done.  The hours crawl by, and during her inspection of the wall she could swear she feels eyes on her back.  At supper with Colette, she hurries through her food.

“Sorry to rush,” she says, “But I have to oversee a trial.”

Colette frowns, “Oh dear, nothing too serious, I hope.”

“A man left the village without permission.”

Colette blinks.  “Is that all?”

Belle stares at Colette with a tilted head.  “It’s against our law.  To keep our people safe, they must stay within the wall.  Why do I need to explain this?”

Colette’s gaze drops to her lap.  “You don’t, dear, I understand.  I understand very well.”

Of course she does.  Belle worries sometimes that even once the war is over, Colette may never dare to leave Collioure again.  Belle doesn’t blame her.  “Right.  Sorry.  Look, I’ll see you tomorrow.  Good night.”

She brushes a kiss at Colette’s temple and leaves, visiting her chambers first to fetch her cloak, then heading for the great hall.  As she walks she hears the faint ring of the bell that calls for witnesses to attend the trial.  She speeds her steps slightly, intent on arriving first.  She makes it with time left to arrange herself in the governor’s seat before the first people start to arrive.  They glance her way, but most fix their eyes on the floor.  Belle keeps her spine straight and her chin lifted, ready to be the lady of Collioure.

Brevet comes to stand at her side.  She doesn’t need to look to know it’s him.  Two soldiers crack open one of the entrance doors to the great hall and enter, weaving through the crowd until they reach the center, where they bow deeply.

“Bring in the prisoner,” Belle instructs them.

“Yes, my lady,” they reply before returning to the doors.  A man bound in chains is passed to them from outside, and they walk him up to face Belle.  He’s taller than both soldiers, thin and rangy with a thatch of hay-colored hair above a horsey face.  His expression is sullen and irritated and he rolls his eyes when the soldiers force him to kneel.

“Present his charges,” Belle says to the soldiers.

One reads from a piece of parchment taken from a pocket.  “The farmhand Nino stands accused of exiting the village without official permission or purpose, my lady.”

Belle nods, and focuses on the farmhand.  “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Nino?  Any way to explain why you put yourself in danger, going outside the wall?”

Nino heaves a sigh, his gaze fixing dully on Belle.  “Because I wanted some _fucking_ fresh air, my lady,” he snarls, his profanity drawing a faint gasp from the court, “Maybe you like living in a cage, but I’m _sick_ of it.”

“The wall keeps you safe-” Belle begins, only for Nino to scoff.

“That’s what the army’s here for!” he counters, “It was supposed to be done now.  When’s it gonna be _done_ , eh?”  He thrusts his chained hands toward her, wagging long, knobby fingers.  “Look, look!  You see?  Not a scratch!  I went outside, and I didn’t die!  Didn’t burn or freeze or drown.  Nothing’ll hurt me out there.”

Lips thinned to a line, Belle stands and approaches Nino.  He glares in surly defiance.  “Excuse me,” she murmurs, voice soft as water, “Is ‘nothing’ new slang for ogres?  If so, then yes, _nothing_ will hurt you out there.  I am trying to keep you alive.”

“We got the army now,” Nino explains like she’s a slow child, “Plus that moss stuff.  But you act like there’s still ogres round every corner.  You’ve gone mad, you have.”

Anger flares in Belle and her gaze jumps from Nino to the soldiers.  “Take him to the dungeon.  Let him learn what a real cage is.”

“Aw, come on!” Nino groans to the ceiling as he’s hauled to his feet and marched from the great hall.  “So long, loony lady!” he sings over his shoulder on the way out.

Belle turns on a heel and stalks back to the governor’s seat.  Plopping down on it, she bites out, “Right.  That’s done.  Everyone, go home.”

The court files out quickly and silently.  Soon only Brevet remains.  “The dungeon, my lady?”

“You can let him out this time tomorrow,” Belle snaps before grumbling, “I’ll not be called mad by a man who ran out into ogre-infested land.  Does that seem like a healthy and wholesome activity to you, captain?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders.  “It could, maybe.  Depending on the state of the place you were running from, and how long you’d been stuck there.”

Belle stifles her own groan.  “Wonderful.  You’re willing to sacrifice our safety for some extra elbow room too.  Unbelievable.”

“My lady-”

“Save it.”  Belle stands and leaves the great hall, then heads toward the office, intent on burying herself in work just to avoid the rampant idiocy around her.

She hasn’t quite managed it even a few days later.  It’s getting difficult for Belle to do the work that takes her outside of her office.  Checking in with Martine at the common house, inspecting the wall, going over hospital inventory with Girard- she does it all under the heavy weight of silent, resentful observation.  She doesn’t understand it.  Nino is already free, probably moaning about her cruelty over a pint.  All she’s done, ever since she took the governor’s seat, is keep the people of Collioure as safe as possible through the siege.  Has she been perfect?  No.  But no one can say she doesn’t have the people’s best interests at heart.  Even when they aren’t aware of exactly what their best interests are.

When Belle receives word that the water enchantment is fading, she finds herself flicking through old reports rather than leaving the sanctuary of the office.  Rolling her eyes at her own cowardice, she takes the cotton-wrapped pin from a drawer, then bolts up from her chair and stalks through the corridors and out to the sea side of the village.

Arnaud’s already had his one fishing trip for the week, so the dock is littered with fishermen lazing about with nothing to do except watch her walk to the sea cave.  Belle sympathizes with their situation, but what do they expect her to do?  Maybe she’ll allow two trips a week.

Nervous energy urges her to trot the rest of the way to the cave- she slows her pace instead.  She will not be intimidated by a bunch of impatient men.  If they want to discuss a situation she might actually be able to improve, they can take it to Arnaud.  There is an order to this.

She picks her way down into the cave and moves to the hole in which water laps and gurgles.  Drawing the pin from her pocket, she pokes it into the pad of her left thumb and drips blood around the hole.  The magic flashes blue-white, and Belle gives a brief smile of satisfaction.  _See_ , she thinks, _I shed my_ blood _for Collioure!  I deserve respect!_

Belle ties a handkerchief around her thumb and heads out, only to stop short at the sight of a dozen fishermen now lounging much closer to the cave than they were before, all watching her.  Belle’s heart thuds uncomfortably, and she can’t keep from ducking her head and scuttling between the men, hurrying for the safety of the castle.  She can only take a full breath again when she’s back behind her desk in the office.

“Gods,” Belle sighs, her eyes slipping shut as she tries to will away fear of her own people.


	28. Chapter 28

She has to visit Cyril.  They’ve reached the second to last chapter of _Her Handsome Hero_.  She’s nearly sure his ear twitched on her last visit as the climax reached its peak.  She can’t leave him in suspense.

She also can’t leave the castle.  Or, she can.  Of course she can.  She’s just terribly busy today.  She’ll go a little later.  Perhaps around supper time.  Colette won’t mind if she’s late.  She might not even notice Belle’s absence, if she’s still working on her private project.  Belle’s caught her scribbling on parchment at her writing desk too many times not to know she’s up to something, but Colette’s silence on the subject has held Belle’s tongue too.

Silence seems to ring through Collioure.  It follows Belle like a cloud whenever she steps outside, spreading out to stop any conversation she happens to come near.  Then it’s the staring again, always the staring.  What are these people hoping to see?  She hasn’t figured it out yet.  Maybe later, when she goes to visit Cyril, she’ll get a clue.  But she doesn’t have to go right now.

Belle flinches at a knock on the office door.  She doesn’t immediately recognize Victurnien’s fluttery tap or Brevet’s steady thump.  Eyeing the door with a wary squint, she calls, “Come in!”

The door opens, and an older man steps in.  Belle’s stomach clenches at the sight of him- his round belly and silver hair, his neat moustache and leather satchel bulging with parchment.  Her eyes trace the scar on his cheek, and her memory overlays it with a seeping gash being sewn shut by a healer three beds from where Maurice lie dying.

“Hello, Colbert,” she greets the village’s head carpenter.

He swallows, “My lady, hello, how are you?”

“Well.  And you?”

“Fine, just fine.”

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“Uh, heh, actually, I came by to see if there was something I could do for you.”

Belle raises an eyebrow.  “The castle is in good repair.  We don’t need a carpenter.”

“Yes, of course,” Colbert says while bustling over to the desk, “I mean about the wall, my lady.”

Belle suppresses a flash of anger.  “What exactly do you mean about the wall, Colbert?”

“How we- well, here, look at this.”  He sets his satchel on the very edge of the desk before undoing its clasp and flipping it open.  Belle notices a large piece of parchment that’s been folded twice to nearly fit inside.  Colbert takes this out and unfolds it, then drapes it almost theatrically over Belle’s desk.  The parchment seems to contain design plans, not surprising for a carpenter to carry around.  But it isn’t a building the plans describe.  Instead, it appears to provide a plan to turn the wall into a massive gate.

“Those doors’ll be twenty feet high, see.  And there’ll be iron hooks along the back where we’ll slide a log in and bar the gate from opening, if we need to.  That simple.”

Belle stares at the plans.

Colbert clears his throat and runs a thick finger along the top part of the proposed gate.  “And, see here, I’ve added some platforms for archers.  And there’s a couple wickets in the main doors, for moving in and out when the gate’s shut.  I tried to think of everything, y’see.”

He steps back, hands clasped behind him.

Belle studies the design in silence, imagining the gate as it might look where the wall now stands.  She imagines a far-off day when its huge doors can swing wide open, perhaps never to be shut and barred again.  A tiny smile touches her lips.  “Your idea is- interesting, Colbert.  Thank you for presenting it.”

Colbert beams, relief pouring off him in waves.  Then his eyebrows jump, “Oh!  And, here’s this, as well.  Nearly forgot...”  He digs into his satchel again and fishes out several sheets of parchment which he hands to Belle.

Each page bears names written in all different hands from top to bottom.  “Is this a petition of people who wish to destroy the wall?” she inquires dryly.

“No, no.  Those are volunteers to help build the gate, my lady.  It will take a good deal of effort.  But, you well know, when the people of Collioure put our minds to something, that something gets done.”

The pride in his voice thrums in Belle’s heart.  As she told Martine not long ago, her people benefit from throwing their efforts into a mission.  It’s what built the wall in the first place.  “I see,” she says, “I will consider this.  Expect an answer soon.  Good day, Colbert.”

“Good day, my lady,” he replies, head bobbing as he shuffles back to the door.  He pauses on the threshold.  “You know, you’re a real credit to us, my lady.  Have been since you were a girl.  I, uh...  So long, then.”

He ducks out before Belle can respond.  She supposes she should appreciate his compliment, though part of her wonders if it was just an unsubtle attempt at flattery.  She doesn’t blame Colbert for the accident that killed Maurice, she truly doesn’t.  It’s only raw grief that infects her heart every time she sees him, and drops a heavy shroud between them that can’t be moved.

She looks at the plans, indecision roiling within her.  The thought of taking down the wall at the height of summer is completely abhorrent.  But then, the army is here.  They will protect Collioure while the gate is built.  It could be done quickly, if every person on Colbert’s list lent a hand.

Teeth anchored in her lower lip, Belle refolds the parchment and tries to focus on her own work until  she can no longer avoid visiting the hospital.  As she speculated earlier, today is the day Belle gets her first clue about the silent staring.  Expectation pours down on her, and she closes the book after one chapter.  With a swift, awkward apology to Cyril, she escapes back to her office until supper, where she picks at her meal until Colette sighs and says, “All right, out with it.”

Belle’s gaze jumps up from her plate.  “What?”

“Something is clearly weighing on your mind, dear.  They say troubles shared are troubles halved.  Therefore...” she waves a welcoming hand in Belle’s direction.

After gnawing her lip just a little longer, Belle says, “Public opinion says the wall should come down.”

Colette nods.  “I gathered as much.”

“I don’t understand,” Belle gripes in frustration, “All this time, no one’s spoken against the wall even once, and now it seems to be more hated than the ogres.”

“People are able to endure a great deal,” Colette says quietly, “But there is a limit.  Surely you understand that the army’s arrival was the thing our people pinned their hopes on.  The shining light at the end of a dark path.  We’ve reached the end of the path.  They are ready for the light to shine.”

Belle frowns, shaking her head.  “Surely _they_ must understand it’s not as simple as that.  The army’s arrival was what would keep us alive for another year, not the solution to all our troubles.  This war will end when every ogre is either dead or driven out of the Marshlands for good.  They have to know this.  Before that day comes, why would they demand that I dismantle any part of their safety?”

Colette seems to have no answer for this, looking across the table at Belle in opaque silence.

“I mean, they must be realistic,” Belle continues, “ _You_ were realistic, Mother.  In the cave, you had the choice to try escaping or wait for help.  You understood how serious the danger was, so you did the smart thing and waited.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

Belle blinks.  “What?”

Deep sorrow fills Colette’s face and she speaks with slow conviction, “If I’d known Maurice was going to die while I hid in that cave, nothing could have stopped me from escaping.  Or at least trying to.  None of us can hide forever, Belle.  There comes a time when the price of safety is too great.”

Shock and a flare of shame stun Belle into silence.  Maurice hated the wall, she remembers.  Hated cutting off Collioure from the region’s neighboring villages as they fell one after another to the rampaging hordes.  If the army had come sooner, the wall would’ve never been built.  He would have loved Colbert’s gate design.

Belle huddles miserably on her chair, and mutters, “Papa would be ashamed of my cowardice.”

She doesn’t look as Colette rises and rounds the table, crouching at her side.  “No, sweetheart, not at all.  You’ve been so very brave, for so long.  He would be proud.  As proud as I am.  But now, I think it’s time to learn a different kind of bravery.”

“I’m not sure I know how,” Belle confesses in a whisper.

Colette pulls her into an embrace, resting her cheek on Belle’s hair.  “You don’t have to.  You know what to do.”

Belle drags in and releases a shaky breath.  “The brave thing.”


	29. Chapter 29

Belle runs through the castle even as massive rocks crash through and shatter everything around her.  Smoke and screams and bellows surround her, suffocate her.  She can’t go to the long house.  It’s too late.  Collioure is being crushed under a hundred huge feet and smashed under a hundred angry fists.  Where is the army?  Where are the archers?  Where is Verna?  Brevet?  Rumpelstiltskin?  Her mother?  Which of those dying screams belong to them?

Belle can only run.  Duck under fists that swing at her head.  Dodge thrown and falling stones.  Eventually, she notices water at her feet.  She’s reached the shore.  She keeps running, out into the surf.  Waves try to force her back, but she refuses be snatched up in a crushing grip, her limbs ripped from her body, her head ground to pieces between jagged teeth.

Her feet leave the sand, and the tide carries her out into silent, dark water.  She floats.  She sinks.  Her lungs burn with smoke, so she lets it out, and lets the water in...

Belle bolts awake, coughing and sputtering on nothing in the peaceful stillness of her bedroom.  She drops her clammy face into her hands and tries to banish her heart-pounding terror.  She knows any success she achieves is temporary.  Come tomorrow night, it will return, striking the moment her head hits the pillow.

It’s the exact same terror that hunted her after the attack on the library.  Belle didn’t bother hoping that things would be any different now, just because Colette is alive and the army has come.  As Arnaud once remarked, fear doesn’t listen to reason.

Victurnien thought a nice little ceremony was in order to herald the wall’s destruction and the gate’s pending construction.  So Belle was forced to stand with her chin held high and her guts in a knot as men scaled the wall and began dismantling it piece by piece.  The onlookers cheered.  Only Colette’s hand in hers kept Belle’s bile in her throat.

The nightmares wasted no time in coming for her.  They would rip her out of sleep, leaving her shaken and half-convinced Collioure was in smoking ruins around her.  She could hardly blink for the rest of the night, and would battle exhaustion all day until she finally dropped into bed, where the cycle would start again.

Tonight she wrestles out of the blankets and stumbles over to the window, desperate for fresh air.  However, her bedroom overlooks the moonlit sea, and the sense memory of her lungs filling with water has Belle reeling back.  She grabs a blanket and bundles up in it, then stalks into the halls, searching out the only meager reassurance she’s managed to find so far.  On the forest side of the castle, she ­can pick out the torches burning in the army camp and in the watch posts.  That was the one concession she demanded before approving the gate’s construction- the watch posts would remain exactly as they are on the east and west, and the gate would be built between them.  This made dismantling the wall a more painstaking business, but Belle doesn’t care.  Her sanity depends on knowing Collioure is being guarded every minute, day and night.

Perhaps she’ll read in the library for a while and try to sleep on the cot.  It’s her opinion that nothing in all the world is as soporific as Hugo’s history of Collioure.  If that doesn’t do the trick, she doesn’t know what will.  And so with that goal in mind, she trudges off through the silent halls until she reaches the library and slips inside.  She finds the Hugo quickly enough and heads for the alcove.  To her surprise, there’s already a fire in the hearth, and Rumpelstiltskin in his chair.

She’s a second from scurrying back into the shadows when Rumpelstiltskin looks up and turns in his chair to spot her.  “Oh, B- m-, ah, good evening.”

Belle discreetly folds the blanket over the front of her nightgown and crosses her arms over the Hugo against her chest before padding to her chair.  “Good evening.  You must be enjoying the Sinclair, if it’s kept you up this late.”

Rumpelstiltskin gives her a wincing grin.  “Ah, not really.  That is, ah, yes, I am enjoying it.  It’s just... I have restless nights sometimes.”

Belle’s gaze drops to her lap.  “Right.  As do I.  Sometimes.”

“And busy days too, I suppose.  A rough combination.”

She lets out a soft hum as guilt consumes her.  It’s been quite a while since her last visit to the library.  Exhaustion has forced her into bed at sundown, effectively ending her most regular contact with Rumpelstiltskin.  She gets news of him secondhand- that he’s still training up his archers, or pitching in with what remains of the wall, or conferring with Captain Fa in the camp.  It’s good to know he’s around, while also dissatisfying in a way she doesn’t quite understand.

“Is that the Hugo?” he asks, leaning over to peer at the book’s cover, “Never expected to see you crack that.”

“You’d be right to.  It’s- um...  it seems all my nights have been restless, lately.  I was hoping Master Hugo’s dull droning would put me to sleep.”  She forces a grin while giving the book a wag.

Rumpelstiltskin returns it with a small, soft smile.  “I see.  It’s the wall, isn’t it?”

Belle’s grin drops as she blinks wide eyes at him.  “Am I that obvious?” she asks with genuine concern.  Her people can’t see how scared she is.  She has to be brave for them.

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin replies, “But, it makes sense, doesn’t it?  It was your only protection for a long time.  Of course it’s difficult let it go.”

Something that isn’t quite anger or fear drives Belle out of her seat, the Hugo toppling from her lap.  She hears herself exclaim, “But only for me!  Why is it only me?  Everyone else is so terribly happy that it’s gone.  Why can’t I...?”  A thought occurs to her, and she fixes half-panicked eyes on Rumpelstiltskin.  “Is this what my life is now?  Forever afraid, never just happy.  Never feeling safe, no matter where I am or what I do.”  Sharp breaths issue from her lungs that she can’t control.  Rumpelstiltskin stands and steps closer, but she hardly notices as images of Nino’s scornful stare flash in her mind.  “Am I truly going mad?”

Her cold, shaking hands clench at the blanket.  Rumpelstiltskin’s cover them and he lends his warmth with a gentle squeeze.  Belle lets go of the blanket and grips his fingers.  “No, Belle, you are not going mad,” he murmurs, “Just breathe.  Breathe with me.”

She watches him draw in a deep lungful of air and tries to draw her own through a tight throat.  They hold it for a moment, and then release in a long exhale, his smooth while hers shakes.  They pause with empty chests, then inhale again, holding and releasing in long intervals.  After another couple of rounds, Belle feels lightheaded and a little dizzy, which is preferable by far to choking on her own panic. 

“There.  All right now.  You will be happy again, Belle.  Truly happy.  I promise you that.  You’re a little out of practice now, that’s all.  It’ll come back to you.”

He’s wrong.  Belle has been truly happy, even under the constant threat of an attack.  She’s been happy here, in the library, with Rumpelstiltskin.  When they’ve been reading or chatting, or even during their impromptu spar with the training daggers- her fear faded away, and the person she used to be returned, if only for a minute or two.  She would tell Rumpelstiltskin that, if she hadn’t already embarrassed herself enough tonight.  In all honesty, as an emissary of the king he’s the last person who should see her weakness.  And yet, even when he was a stranger camped outside the wall, some part of her felt at ease with him.  It seemed so natural, she’d have to talk herself back into hating him afterwards.  And now, with him standing close and holding her hands between his warm palms, his gaze deep enough to bury herself in, it feels just as natural to inch closer and tilt her head up-

“Belle, uh...”

His low words break the spell she put herself under.  She blinks and moves back as far as their still clasped hands allow.  “Yes?”

“You will- talk to your mother about this, won’t you?”

His eyes demand an answer.  So she says, “I- I will.”

“Good.  She’ll help you.  You’ll be all right.  You’ll be just fine.”

He doesn’t quite sound like he’s talking to her.  Even so, Belle says, “Yes.”

“Good.  It’s just that...  See, I’ve been thinking, and...”  He falls silent while directing a stormy look at their hands.

“What is it?” Belle asks.

“I think, perhaps, it’s time I left.”

His near-silent words pierce Belle’s heart like a blade.  “What?”

He doesn’t look up as he mutters, “Uh, see, now the army’s here, Captain Fa’s lieutenant can take over training the archers, so you needn’t worry about that.  I’m not being of any other particular use here...”

That seems like a complete falsehood, but in the moment Belle can’t find the words to refute it.  She does manage to say, “But it- it’s not safe for you to leave.  The ogres are out there, in the forest, you know that.”

“Captain Fa has offered me an escort for the first fifty miles.  After that, she says the land’s been cleared.  It’s really the south that’s the last stronghold.  I’d request your permission of course- sorry, I meant to ask earlier...  I wouldn’t ride off with any soldiers without... asking.”

Belle’s pain is boxed up and pushed away as she lifts her chin and slips her hands free of Rumpelstiltskin’s.  “How long will they be gone?”

“Perhaps a week.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Very well then.  Where-” something in her chest throbs, and she forces her voice to stay steady as she asks, “Where will you go?”

“The capital, first.  But I think, after, I might return to the Frontlands.  I’ve been away from- from home a long time.  I might see how it’s changed.”

“Right.  Farewell then.”  Belle dips into a curtsey.  “I thank you for your service.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s face is a perfect blank as he bows.  “It was an honor.”

“Good night.”  Belle flees the library before she can do something stupid, like beg him not to go.  She has no right to.  Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t belong to her.  It would be horribly selfish to try to keep him here, when he could be helping so many others.  As a real hero should.


	30. Chapter 30

Belle doesn’t see Rumpelstiltskin again before his send-off, arranged and led by a mournful Victurnien.  He appears in his armor- Belle almost forgot its gaudy gold color.  His archers stand in a solemn line to give and accept handshakes and well-wishes, as do the members of Belle’s council.  Colette receives a courtly kiss on her hand.  For her part, Belle repeats her parting words from earlier with her gaze nailed to Rumpelstiltskin’s chin.  She curtseys, he bows, and that’s it.  Good old Rosie is led out by a groom.  Rumpelstiltskin lays his saddlebags on her before mounting.  It seems the entire village has come to cheer and wave as he rides through the brand new gap in the wall.  Three of Captain Fa’s soldiers armed with bows and spears meet him on their own mounts, and the company of four continues on through the ruins, across the farmers’ fields, and into the forest, out of sight.

“This is not as the gods willed it,” Victurnien mutters like a lost child.

Belle doesn’t acknowledge his words, instead turning away and striding for the castle.  Victurnien will come to his senses.  The whole village will.  This was inevitable.  He was never theirs to keep.

Belle finds a way to crawl back into sleep after her nightmares attack.  She breathes, as she did that night in the library.  If she imagines a warm, steady, dark gaze holding her own, or a low, accented voice guiding her breaths- well, no one knows but her.

And if her nightmares sometimes include a broken body lying in the silent forest with a dark, empty, lifeless gaze, she’s not about to mention it to anyone.

On a bright afternoon with a hint of autumn crispness in the air, Martine brings word of a boat on the horizon.  It’s quickly identified as the _Acheron_.

“Me and Arnaud can handle the-”

“No,” Belle interrupts him, then looks up from her reports.  “I will speak to Tobias.  I need to thank him for delivering our message.  I will also ensure he doesn’t get any more funny ideas about changing prices.”

Martine ducks his head.  “Right, my lady.”

The _Acheron_ weighs anchor as the sun sinks near the horizon.  Belle is ready to board a rowboat and venture out to meet it, accompanied by Martine and Arnaud.  Her chamberlain has totaled up their payment and it rests in a small chest carried by Arnaud.  She’s debating whether or not to say Rumpelstiltskin is still in Collioure if Tobias tries to cheat them again as she climbs the rope ladder onto the _Acheron_ ’s deck.  A sailor helps her aboard and she’s just steadied herself and smoothed down her skirts when she sees Tobias bowing deeply before her.

Mostly out of habit, she curtseys.  “Good day, Master Tobias.”

He straightens with a broad smile.  “And to you, Lady Belle.  Very glad to see that all is well in Collioure.”

“Yes, and in large part that’s thanks to you for delivering Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s letter.  You have the gratitude of the entire village.”

He waves a hand.  “Please, when Sir Rumpelstiltskin begs a favor, it is a pleasure to say yes.  Is he, ah, with you?”  Tobias peers over her shoulder as if the knight is hiding behind her or her councilors.

“He isn’t,” Belle says without elaboration.

“Ah.  Well, you will give him my best, I’m sure.”

“As soon as I can.”  She gestures to Arnaud to give Tobias the chest.  “In the meantime, here is your payment for this delivery.  You’ll see the amount reflects what was agreed upon this spring.”

She allows her face to turn iron-hard as the chest settles in his arms, and is gratified by his dry swallow.  “Many thanks, my lady.  I’ll just have this counted and we’ll start unloading.”

He passes it to a hovering clerk who vanishes into the captain’s quarters.  Belle does not gaze at the doors and wistfully imagine Rumpelstiltskin asking to stay, offering his help, writing the letter that won their safety at last.  Instead she turns her gaze to the shore, just in time to hear the watch’s trumpets sound.

Her blood runs cold.  The trumpets blast again.  And again.  Six.  They’ve not seen six at once all summer.  And the wall is gone, almost as if the beasts waited for the moment Collioure was most vulnerable.  She runs for the rope ladder, only for a thick arm to band around her waist.  “Let go!” she cries.

“No, my lady,” Arnaud replies, “We’re staying here.  Keeping you safe.”

Fury roars in her.  “How dare you!” she snarls, “I _command_ you to let me go!”

His grip only tightens and Martine pops up nearby to say, “All respect, my lady, but what will you do?  Yell at them?”

“My _mother_ is in there!”  Time melts away and she’s back at the gate, screaming for the soldiers to let her run to the library and save Colette.  Only now her father isn’t here to hold her together.

Belle can’t believe her own idiocy.  She never told anyone- not Susanne, not Brevet, not even Rumpelstiltskin for all the good it would do- about her agreement with Colette to go to the sea cave during an attack.  What if her mother can’t get there?  What if she’s having one of her tired days?  Belle cannot lose her again.  She writhes in Arnaud’s hold, but it doesn’t budge.

“Please! _Please!_ ” she begs between ragged gasps, “I have to- I have to help her!”

“She’ll be helped, my lady,” Arnaud murmurs, “Let the army do its job.”

Belle’s panic actually erased the existence of Captain Fa and her one thousand soldiers.  Even so, the reminder only provides the slenderest thread for her to grasp while she wilts into hiccupping sobs.  Arnaud’s free hand thumps her back as softly as he can manage.  She’s grateful to be kept on her feet.

Her eyes stay locked on the village.  Tiny figures stream to the long house too fast for Belle to count.  She hears a crash and when black smoke billows up from somewhere beyond the castle, she lets out a tortured cry and attempts once more to break Arnaud’s grip with no success.  Men emerge from houses on the sea side and race in-land.  _They’ll form a bucket chain_ , the dwindling remnants of Belle’s sanity inform her, _They’ve trained for this._   Collioure has been magnificently lucky this year that the attacking ogres have been the roaring and hitting type instead of the throwing type.  The wall blocked most projectiles, but the biggest ogres have been able to launch whatever they grab onto buildings, often causing fires, injuries, and deaths.  Without the wall, they have their pick of targets.

Scattered bellows float on the wind, sounding flat and distorted as they curl around the castle.  Belle’s whole body cringes at another crash.  She can see the bucket chain now, and hopes with all her heart it’s enough to save whatever’s burning.

Where is Verna?  She no longer has an arguably safe place to stand and shoot from.  If she’s down on the ground, peering through smoke, trying not to hit a soldier as she aims...  They’re all getting medals, Belle decides.  If anyone survives.

White smoke slowly replaces black, and the bellows lessen and weaken.  There are no more crashes.  The trumpets sound the all-clear.  It’s the most beautiful thing Belle has ever heard.  Tears of relief slip down her face as Arnaud slowly releases her.  She wipes them away, then coughs against a rough throat before saying, “Please arrange the delivery, Master Tobias.  As you can see, I have other matters that require my attention.”

She turns to take in his ashen face as he mumbles, “Y-yes, of course.  Right away.  My lady.”

“Arnaud, supervise the delivery.  Martine, come with me.”

At last, her orders are obeyed.  She and Martine climb back down into the rowboat.  The men at the oars row twice as fast back to shore.  Belle hopes they don’t have families they’ve been parted from, trapped out here with her.  She’s not encouraged when they don’t even bother to dock, instead running the boat up on shore and leaping out to race through the shallow surf and into the village.  Martine steadies her as she lifts her skirts and steps out.  As soon as she has her balance, she slips free and runs for the sea cave.

“Mother!” she calls even before she reaches the entrance, “Mother, I’m here!”

“Belle!”

She’s found a new most beautiful sound.  As she bolts through the shadows to the back of the cave, she sees Colette huddled there with Susanne.  She barrels into them both, yanking them hard against her.  “Oh gods,” she breathes, “I thought- I didn’t know- something might’ve happened and I couldn’t...”

Colette hushes her softly, running a hand over her hair.  “We’re all right, darling.  I kept my word, didn’t I?”

Belle huffs out a laugh.  “I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, Belle.”

She’ll go out and survey the damage soon.  But not before spending a long moment wrapped in Colette’s arms, the only safe place in the world.  When the thought of letting go of Colette doesn’t make her want to cling all the tighter, she manages to move away.  “I need to see what’s happened,” she murmurs apologetically.

“Of course, dear.”

“Susanne, please help Lady Colette back to her chambers.”

The maid nods.  “Yes, my lady.”

Belle stands and swipes her hands down her dress.  “I’ll come see you as soon as I can,” she tells Colette, “Try to rest.”

“All right.”

Dredging up her last reserves of stubborn strength, Belle leaves the sea cave and comes through the castle to the forest side of the village, where she walks onto a battlefield.  A charred building to her right still steams, and its roof has collapsed.  A few people lie on the ground, all with healers tending their wounds.  Belle walks by, heading to where the wall used to be.  Now, an ogre’s corpse sprawls across the former divide, an arrow buried deep in its eye socket, its hand still reaching out to crush and claw and tear at Collioure.  After studying it for a time, Belle steps around it and moves a little way out into the ruins.

She counts three more dead ogres, all bristling with arrows and one or two spears each.  She spots more fallen soldiers.  Most have healers with them.  Some don’t.  Belle finds Brevet and Captain Fa engrossed in their own discussion several yards away.  She approaches them, asking, “So, what happened?”

“A fight’s what happened, my lady,” Brevet answers simply, “We got word from a scout they were coming five minutes after you left for the _Acheron_.  We took down four, the other two ran.  We’re still tallying the injured and- and the dead.”

“One of them damn near made it into the village,” Belle says, cocking her head toward the reaching corpse.  “How did that happen, Captain Fa?”  Belle doesn’t let her mumble through an excuse, instead holding up a hand and saying, “You know, it’s not important.  But it never would’ve happened if we left the wall as it was.  Keep cleaning up this mess.  Take the severely wounded to the hospital, as agreed.  Fetch Victurnien to burn the dead.  Come to my office with a complete report tomorrow.  Farewell.”

She turns on a heel and leaves them to their work.  A bright, sharp anger has found her and she wishes she had something brittle to snap in half.  Instead, as she walks back through the village, she spots a small figure she missed on the way down.  Verna is huddled against the wall of a house, an empty quiver dangling from her arm and a bow lying on the ground at her feet.  Belle freezes in her tracks, then detours to crouch in front of her.

“Verna, are you all right?” she asks gently, “Are you hurt?”

Her eyes are wide and unseeing, and tear tracks draw lines through the dirt on her cheeks.  She shakes her head minutely.  “It was... it was different, than the first time.  Not the same at all.  They were so big.  I got one.  But I was too late...”

She squeezes her eyes shut and more tears spill from them.  Anguish clasping her heart, Belle shifts until she can sit by Verna’s side and wrap an arm around her shoulders.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.  I’m glad you’re alive.”

“But _he’s_ not.  My mate Remy.  He- he was the one who talked about how good my aim was, said I should sign up with him.  We were next to each other, on the line.  He’s gone now.  I was too late.”

All Belle can do is squeeze Verna tight and murmur condolences.  For a brief time she hates all the decisions that led to Verna experiencing this fear and grief, including her own.  She can’t maintain it, though.  Not without destroying herself.

Eventually, Verna slips out from under Belle’s arm and stands while muttering, “I- I have to check on my sister, excuse me, my lady.”

Once again Belle has taken Verna’s place, sitting with her back pressed to the wall.  She picks up the bow Verna left behind.  If she asks for it someday, Belle will hand it over.  If she doesn’t, Belle won’t force it on her.  She takes it back to the office for safekeeping and goes to the lord’s chambers to sit with Colette.


	31. Chapter 31

Belle opens her eyes to a hazy kind of light she takes for dawn.  She’s lying in bed, limbs heavy and loose.  Someone sighs beside her and she turns her head.  Rumpelstiltskin blinks at her slowly.

She lets out a soft gasp.

“What is it?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought you’d gone.”

Confusion fills his sleepy face.  “Why would I go?”

“I don’t know.”  It’s a mystery.

Rumpelstiltskin smiles at her nonsense.  “Come here.”

She rolls toward him, but this soft world they occupy dissolves before she reaches him.  The memory of it is already fading as she rubs her cheek into slightly scratchy sheets and peers through a tangle of hair at the glaring break of day.

She actually slept the whole night through.  She can’t imagine how, or why.  But it’s over now, time to face whatever’s coming next.  She cleans herself from her wash basin and dresses.  Tea and a piece of buttered bread await her in the office, as does Girard’s report from the hospital.  Her heart sinks as she absorbs the damage of yesterday’s attack in plain facts and figures.  Three soldiers dead.  Four with wounds severe enough to bring them to the hospital.  Ten villagers wounded, one dead.  Remy.  Belle imagines she’ll remember his name for the rest of her life.

She chooses to set the bleak news aside and finish her tea, cradling it in her hands before turning it around to avoid the chip in the rim.  She’s surprised the cup wasn’t thrown out, but maybe one of the servants intended to keep it, or sell it as a relic bearing the mark of the Light One.  Belle smirks as she imagines Rumpelstiltskin rolling his eyes at the notion.

At Brevet’s knock on the office door, Belle gulps the rest of her tea and schools her face into a neutral mask.  “Come in,” she answers.

He leads her full council plus Captain Fa inside.  They all look tired and grim, gazes fixed on nothing.  Everyone seems to prefer silence to speech.  Considering what needs to be said, so does Belle.

Nonetheless, she must ask, though she lets her voice be gentle, “Cleric Victurnien, what do you have to report?”

“I’ve seen the dead passed into Ulthar’s care, my lady,” he replies dully.

“Good.  Thank you.  Councilor Martine, Councilor Arnaud, were there any difficulties with the delivery?”

“One vegetable crate caught the damp,” says Martine, “It’s gone to compost.”

“All right.  I don’t suppose the _Acheron_ could’ve arrived at a better time, at least from Girard’s standpoint,” she remarks, briefly lifting the hospital report, “I wouldn’t have liked to treat our wounded with what we had left over from a season of attacks.  What can you tell us about the latest, captain?”

Brevet releases a long sigh and rubs at his forehead.  “They came from the northwest,” he says, “Likely the cave-dwellers who abducted you and Lady Colette and Sir Rumpel.  All adults, all fighters.”

“How much damage did they do to the buildings?”

“One house is burnt out.  Another, too damaged to live in.  All told, eight people displaced.”

“They can stay in the castle,” Belle says, “We have space enough while their homes are rebuilt.  Which brings me to another point.”  She lets her eyes rove over her four councilors.  “Working on taking down the wall and building the gate is no longer voluntary.  It is compulsory.  Anyone who can follow instructions, use a tool, or pick up a piece of wood will report to the wall.  I’ll excuse a certain number of people to cook group meals for the rest.  And the maids taking water to the camp will continue that task.  The healers are also excused.  But all others will lend their effort every day until we are once again protected.  We will not see another day like yesterday.  It’s been decided.  Councilors Martine and Arnaud will be responsible for sharing this information.  I want our people at work in two days’ time.  Am I understood?”

Martine and Arnaud agree, despite hung heads.  “Suppose there won’t be any more fishing trips,” Arnaud mutters glumly.

“We don’t need to now there’s been a delivery.  And considering what’s just happened, we need to keep our people close.  I’m sure you understand,” Belle says.

“Excuse me,” interjects Captain Fa.  Belle almost forgot she was here.  She never speaks in these meetings unless directly addressed.  It’s easy for her to fade into the background, for all she’s a woman in armor.

“Yes?” Belle inquires.

“I know the plan was to incorporate the wood that’s been painted with the cave moss into the gate, but I request that wood be arranged along the front line of the camp.  If the moss is as good a repellant as you say, that could ensure we’d never face another severe attack.”

Belle considers this, weighing the amount of wood they have that’s worthy building material as well as the length of time it will take to grow moss to paint the gate.  She must admit it’s already coming in on the harvested areas of the sea cave with exuberance.  Losing some of the wall’s structure wouldn’t be a terrible sacrifice to protect their protectors.  “Very well, Captain Fa.  Your request is granted.”

She bows her head.  “Thank you.”

“I think we should take apart the trebuchet,” Brevet remarks, “Use its wood.  Never been all that handy, and we’re certainly not using it with the army outside.”

“Good thinking, captain.  That’s what we’ll do.”  Belle surveys her council and Captain Fa for a moment before digging up a weary but true smile.  “We will carry on, as we always have.  We will never stop fighting for Collioure.”

She dares to believe their chorus of “Yes, my lady” has a bit of vigor in it, before they stand and make their way out of the office.

In the silence that follows, Belle allows herself a moment to simply sit.  Her hand rises and one finger idly traces the rim of the chipped cup.  If Rumpelstiltskin was here, she wouldn’t have to worry about Martine and Arnaud successfully rousing the villagers to devote their days to building the gate.  He’d be the first out there, and people would be petitioning to join him.  The image floats across Belle’s mind of Rumpelstiltskin at work on the gate- cutting wood, carrying boards, hammering nails...

She shakes her head, and focuses on the latest reports.  She has to forget about him.  He wasn’t what she thought he was, and she’s glad for that.  He was a good man, a friend when she needed one.  But he’s gone.  He’s not coming back.

After she’s done with her office work, Belle goes to the hospital to visit the wounded, assuring them they’ll receive the best of care from Girard and his healers.  It can’t replace a boy’s crushed arm, but she knows they’ll do as much as they can.  Seeing the lad’s pale face pressed into his mother’s side makes Belle wonder once again about calling on the fairies for more than fresh water.  But then, yet another memory of Rumpelstiltskin rears up in her mind- magic cannot be the solution to their troubles.  It will call in their debt eventually.

At day’s end, Belle goes to the lord’s chambers.  She knocks on the door, and hears Colette call very faintly, “Come in.”

Her mother isn’t already seated at the table.  She’s bent over her writing desk, quill flying across a page.  Curiosity spurs Belle to creep closer and peer over Colette’s shoulder.  She’s writing a letter, but Belle doesn’t recognize the person it addresses.  She notices a glove lying on the desk she hasn’t seen since they escaped from the cave.  She takes a step back and coughs gently.  It’s still enough to startle Colette.  “Oh!  Oh, I’m sorry, dear, I thought you were Susanne.”

“No, just me.  May I ask what you’re writing?  I’ve seen you at it often lately, but I didn’t want to pry.”

A weak smile flits over Colette’s stormy expression before her gaze drops to her lap.  “There are things I’ve not told you.  Things that happened in the cave while I was hiding.”  She lifts her head to fix sorrowful eyes on Belle.  “I wasn’t alone the whole time, you see.  The ogres brought back others.  I would always try to help them, if- if they were still alive.  Three people managed to join me in my hiding place.  Julien, Reinette, and Ancil.  The first two were injured, badly.  I did what I could to help them, or at least make them comfortable- I had no training, nor medicine or supplies.  And then Ancil...”  
  
“What happened?” Belle asks, though she almost doesn’t want to know.

“He tried to run for the mouth of the cave.  I begged him not to.  I told him the army would come, if we waited, just a little longer.  He didn’t listen.”  Colette heaves a deep breath, her haunted eyes slipping shut.  “I hear his screams still.  I hear the screams of everyone the ogres took, who I couldn’t save.”

Belle’s eyes burn and she reaches for Colette’s shoulder.  “It wasn’t your fault,” she murmurs.

“Truly?” Colette retorts, desperation sharpening her gaze, “If we’d run together, Ancil and I, perhaps...  And the others, could I have tried harder to save them, instead of sitting in the dark and listening while they were eaten alive?”  She shrinks into a miserable hunch.  “I don’t even know their names.  But I know Julien.  And Reinette.  And Ancil.  I know who their families are.  And so, I’m writing to them, to tell them what happened to their loved ones.”  Her fingers graze over the half-filled page on the desk.  “Once the messenger service returns, I will send my letters.  I don’t know what else to do.”

“It will be done, Mother,” Belle intones, heart aching with grief and pride.  “Let’s have supper.”

Colette allows Belle to draw her away from the desk and into the sitting room.  Susanne arrives with their meal, and Belle shares the toll of yesterday’s attack, and her plans to hasten construction of the gate.

“I believe you’ll get the extra help you seek,” Colette says, “But don’t become fanatical about it.  The gate needn’t be built tomorrow.  The army has proven they can protect us.”

“More or less,” Belle mutters, recalling the ogre that died reaching into Collioure.  She’s not looking forward to the impending nightmare in which it roars back to life and rampages through the heart of her village.

“Once we-”  Colette’s words are interrupted by the door swinging open and a maid rushing in.

“E-excuse me, my ladies,” she stammers breathlessly with a hurried curtsey, “We’ve had another message, from the king.”  She thrusts out a piece parchment that’s fine and white, if a bit wrinkled.

Belle takes it, utterly perplexed as to what King Xavier could wish to tell them.  The message written in his quick hand states:

 (Lady Belle,  
I’ve named Sir Rumpelstiltskin the new Lord of Collioure.  Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.  
King Xavier I, House of Verdes, protector and steward of Mrshlnd)

Belle’s stomach turns into cold stone as she stares at the words, willing them to transform into anything but what they are.  She wonders if the world around her is the most intricate nightmare to date, and soon she’ll wake to discover that Rumpelstiltskin has not in fact betrayed her.

“Belle, sweetheart, what is it?” Colette sounds alarmed, probably because Belle’s certain she wears the look of a condemned soul.  Unable to utter a word, she mutely hands Colette the message.  To her credit, Colette doesn’t plaster on a smile and start spouting congratulations.  Belle can’t quite read her expression, but it’s not some wretched parody of happiness.  “Ah, I see.”

“How could he?” Belle rasps out, “He _knows_ , Mother.  He knows what Gaston did.  I told him.  How could he do this to me?”  Her hands clench into shaky fists and she bolts up from her chair, walking blindly around the room to dispel soaring rage that threatens to tear her apart.

“Sweetheart, please, be calm.  This message tells us nothing of how this came to be decided.”

Belle rounds on her, snarling, “It doesn’t have to, I know what he did!  I told him Gaston tried to _claim_ me and our village like due payment for services rendered, and at the time he made all the correct sympathetic noises, when in truth he thought it sounded like a grand idea!  Bloody knights are all the same- I was right from the beginning.  Let him come now and call himself my lord and husband.  I’ll throw him in the dungeon myself!”

Colette endures her ire somberly.  “You would be right to, Belle, if that was his intention.  But that doesn’t sound like the man we know, does it?”

Belle wants to spit out that anyone can fake a pleasant nature.  But the words don’t come.  Even now, memories of Rumpelstiltskin pass through her mind, and there isn’t a hint of dishonesty in a single one.  And trying to find it drowns her anger in a tide of miserable confusion.  She turns away from Colette and trudges to the nearest window, staring out at the landscape, wishing she could melt into it and forget the messy, painful world of humanity.

After a little while, she feels a soft hand on her back.  “Belle, do you feel quite so strongly about this because, if Rumpelstiltskin had asked for your hand himself, you might’ve said yes?”

Belle’s throat closes and something sharp pierces her heart.  She nods.


	32. Chapter 32

Belle sleeps fitfully, waking more tired than when she went to bed.  At dawn she forces herself to rise and go to her office.  Tea and bread have been laid out for her, but the knot in her stomach doesn’t let her touch them.  She tries to read her reports, but can’t quiet the anxious voice in her head that wonders if this will still be her office once the so-called lord of Collioure arrives.  _He has no damn business sitting in this chair_ , Belle thinks viciously, fists already clenched.  _He wouldn’t know the first thing about governing this village.  They’d be lost without me!_

Belle presses a hand to her forehead and tries unsuccessfully to blow out her anger and betrayal and worry with deep breaths.  This is a day Brevet runs morning drills with his soldiers, so the council meeting will be delayed an hour.  She decides to take this free time and scurry out of the castle, heading to the temple.  In this quiet place of pale stone, she closes her eyes and searches for calm.  Though much of her is consumed with furious panic and pain, some tiny part can admit that Colette is right- she doesn’t know the full facts of the situation.  Rumpelstiltskin could surprise her yet, as he always has.

Her delicate attempt at hope is shattered when two arms wrap around her and squeeze tight.  “What in the-?” she sputters.

“Oh, my lady!” Victurnien cries, “Have you come to give your thanks to our magnificent goddess Olene?  I’ve been at it for hours.”

“What are you talking about?”

With one last squeeze, he releases all but her hand and sits back on the bench to direct a rapturous beam at her.  “The happy news was communicated to me in a dream.  The will of Olene shall be realized.  I needn’t have worried.  Silly!”

A weary grimace falls over Belle’s face and her gaze wanders to a certain statue in the circle of deities occupying the center of the temple.  Her skin crawls as she imagines the goddess spying on her life, plotting what’s to come.  Where was Olene when Maurice died, severing him forever from his beloved wife while she waited for rescue in fear and torment?  This is why Belle isn’t devout.  “Cleric Victurnien, have you told anyone what- what _may_ happen?”

“I’ve not, but if you’d like, I could arrange-”

“No!” Belle shouts before schooling herself, then speaking in a low, tense murmur, “I mean...  I do not want... an uproar, do you understand?  This is... a deeply _personal_ matter, and if it is turned into a spectacle, I will be extremely upset.  Have I made myself clear?”

“Absolutely, my lady,” he whispers through a wince, probably because Belle’s hand has tightened into a hard fist around his fingers.  It takes effort for her to uncurl it and let go.

“Good.  Thank you.”  She blows out yet another breath and lets her gaze wander aimlessly around the temple.

Victurnien coughs gently.  “It is certainly understandable to be nervous, my lady.  Naturally.  Know that you can speak to me about anything, if you wish.”

Can she?  Can she babble out her fears of being supplanted, after less than a year as the governor of Collioure?  Stripped of her birthright, because King Xavier probably imagines her as a scared girl who has no idea what she’s doing?  Could Victurnien bear to hear that the valiant Sir Rumpelstiltskin has been scheming all this time to take her as his little wife?  Would he even understand how that insults and enrages her?  No, of course not.

“Yes, of course,” she says, then rises, “Good day, Cleric Victurnien.”

“Good day, my lady.”

She escapes the temple, and pushes the hissing and spitting ball of emotions she feels to the back of her mind.  She holes up in the office with cold tea and reports she must read three times to comprehend.  Eventually her council files in, Victurnien making far too much eye-contact in his silence.  Once they’re settled, Belle’s heart sinks as she accepts that she must tell the others no matter how the words stick in her throat.

“I received another message from the king last evening.”

Brevet frowns, “Did you?  Bad news?”

Victurnien quivers in his seat, but admirably holds his tongue.  Belle can’t seem to force hers to work at all, and so unlocks a drawer in her desk and retrieves the bit of fine white parchment, passing it to Brevet.

His frown only grows as he reads it.  “Oh, well, all right then.”

Martine leans over to look, Brevet hands it to him to read along with Arnaud.  Captain Fa gets it last, and Belle watches her slow blink and raised brows with particular interest, as someone who knew Rumpelstiltskin before he came to Collioure.  The full council aside from Victurnien seem mildly surprised, and Belle is immensely grateful for it.

“Uh, wish you well, my lady,” Arnaud offers with a crooked grin and vague saluting gesture of his hand.

“Thank you,” Belle replies with the tiniest hint of a smile, if only at his strangely sweet awkwardness.

“This is unexpected,” Captain Fa remarks, “But not unhappy.  Congratulations.”  Belle doesn’t spot any misgivings hidden under her words, which she takes as a good sign.

“Yeah, what she said,” Martine chimes in.  His face turns thoughtful, and he counts something on his fingers for a moment.  “So, how are we fitting six chairs in here?”

Belle blinks, “What?”

“Well, there’s me, and Arnaud, and Brevet and Victurnien and Fa- now Sir Rumpel?  It’s getting awful crowded, is all.”

“He must be included,” Brevet states firmly, “Just as Lady Colette was, until Lady Belle took her seat.”

“So who’s seat is he taking?  Not mine, I’ll tell you that much.”  Martine crosses his arms and slouches low in his chair.

“I could offer mine,” Victurnien says, “However, Lady Belle would need to plan a separate meeting so I might inform her of upcoming days of devotion.  Would that be possible, my lady?”

Belle catches herself staring gape-mouthed at her council.  She’s hardly dared to breathe through this entirely unpredicted debate over seating arrangements.  “Uh... Yes- yes, we will schedule something, Cleric Victurnien.  I’d be happy to.”

He smiles brightly, “Very well then.  Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s place on the council is decided.”

“Right,” Brevet chimes in.  Martine, Arnaud, and Captain Fa give nods.

Belle finally remembers the only thing she planned to say.  “I’d like this kept quiet for now, please.  There are... things Sir Rumpelstiltskin and I must discuss, before he... a-assumes his position.”

For some reason the phrase makes her cheeks flame, but no one seems to notice as they each agree not to spread the news.  The meeting continues, and Belle dares to let some of the clouds clear from her mind.

In the following days she often ends up taking part in simple work with the villagers.  She tells herself she’s not trying to ingratiate herself on them, just in case.  Anyway, she wouldn’t have a prayer of holding their favor against the Light One.  Even with the presumed support of her council, she’d be forgotten in his magnificence.  Guilt immediately follows this envious thought, as she recalls how uncomfortably Rumpelstiltskin bore fame’s burden.  But then she has to wonder if that was just part of his scheme, which sends her into a spiral of suspicion and hurt and anger all over again.

There’s nothing for it.  She has to face Rumpelstiltskin and demand the truth.  Once she has it, then she’ll decide what to do with him.


	33. Chapter 33

Rumpelstiltskin returns to Collioure on one of the first brisk days of autumn.  Per Belle’s instructions, he’s held in Captain Fa’s camp, ostensibly to receive an update on the condition of the army and village and the progress made on the gate.  This also provides time for a member of the watch to head to the castle.  While Belle is informed of his arrival, Rumpelstiltskin mounts his horse again and rides into the village.  As she dons her cloak, Belle wonders if he expects the road to be lined with admirers welcoming him with happy cheers, if he’ll instead be unnerved by the vague looks of surprise he draws from the few people not hard at work on the gate.

The watch member meets Rumpelstiltskin at the castle’s entrance and leads him to the great hall.  There he is left to stand in the room’s vast, empty silence, while the watch member goes to the office door and knocks softly.  Belle opens the door and gives her a smile and nod.  She bows and walks away.  Belle shuts the door, and goes to the door connecting her office to the great hall.

She walks down the narrow corridor, but pauses at the final threshold, one hand on the knob, the other on the door’s cool surface.  She blows out a breath, lifts her chin, and enters the great hall.  Four steady strides bring her to the governor’s seat, where she flicks out the ends of her cloak and lowers herself down.  Then she focuses on Rumpelstiltskin, who looks small even in his ridiculous gold armor.  He bows, saying, “Good day, my- my lady.”

Belle raises an eyebrow and coldly quips, “Hello, husband.”

Rumpelstiltskin flinches, gaze dropped to the floor as something like shame fills his face, unless it’s just another trick.  “I... I can go,” he says, voice bleak, “You can tell King Xavier I never arrived.  I’ll... well, I can’t go back to the Frontlands...”

Belle squints at the odd statement.  “Why?”

“Ah, King Xavier bought my contract from King Stefan.  I’ve been- _sold_ into his service.”  His mouth twists into a dry grin.  “Not that I have much room to complain.  A fine portion of that gold is mine after all, whenever I choose to claim it.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, that- that doesn’t matter.  I will go if you send me.  So...”  He waves a hand toward her, as if signaling her cue in a script.  As if there is only one thing she could possibly do.

Well, he doesn’t get to decide what she does.  Instead, she tilts her head and says, “So, you would abandon your mission- that is, marrying me and becoming lord of Collioure.  You would betray the king?”

“Better than betraying you.”  The declaration flies from his mouth and he seems as surprised by it as Belle is.  He swallows and his gaze drops again briefly before rolling up to the ceiling as he grimaces in some silent frustration.  “I didn’t want this.  I didn’t ask to be named your- betrothed.  I didn’t want to be made a lord.  I swear it.”

Belle would like to believe him, if only so he’d look less miserable.  But she needs the truth far more than his comfort.  “What _did_ you want?” she asks, infusing her voice with the fact that he will pay for every lie he tells.

Both truth and lies seem beyond him as emotions riot on his face and eventually resolve into a helpless little smile.  “I wanted to stay,” he confesses, “At first, to help Collioure.  Make up for Gaston’s crime.  Then, after a while...  I wanted to serve you, however I could.  As your advisor.  Your friend.  Or, as your lover, if you’d have me.”

Belle curses the heat that flares in her stomach, ruining her focus.

“I knew you wouldn’t, of course,” he continues quickly, as if to reassure her, “I knew it was impossible, so I told myself my journey was leading back to the Frontlands.  And that was fine.  That’s a good enough end to the story.  But then I was... _commanded_ to return and... and attain the impossible.  But I can’t.  That’s what impossible means.  So, another end.  A messier end.  But better that than...”  His face creases in distaste before he bows deeply.  “Goodbye,” he mutters, then spins on a heel and strides to the doors.

 “Wait.“  Belle discovers that she’s stood up and she has no idea what to do next but say, “Rumpelstiltskin, wait.”

He freezes one step from the doors.  Belle moves toward him, lower lip caught between her teeth as she pads closer.  He slowly turns, and she’s pinned to the floor by his unreadable eyes.  Belle feels horrifically young, lost in a situation her parents and tutors never covered in her studies.  Searching for any kind of guide, she falls back on etiquette.  “Your old chambers have been prepared.  We will discuss this further, soon.”

While she dips into a curtsey, he stares at her like she’s spoken a foreign language. “I, ah... all right.  If you- you’re... sure.”

In this moment Belle is hardly sure that the sky is blue.  But there is one thing that seems obvious to her.  “If you still want to stay, then stay.  For now.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes seem to glow with a beautiful, delicate light.  “Yes.  I do.”

“We’ll speak later then.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll- yes...”  He bows again, the movement jerky and quick.  “Good night- or, day, my- um, anyway...”

He turns back to the doors, but a thought strikes Belle and she stops him again, “Hey, wait!”

Rumpelstiltskin cringes inside his armor, but dutifully faces her.  “Yes?”

“The watch said you arrived alone.  Did you come to Collioure with no escort?  You fool, you could’ve been killed!”

Far from looking chastened, Rumpelstiltskin’s face goes soft and warm, and a bit sad.  “I didn’t want you to think badly of me.  At least, not more than you already did.  Until later, then.”

He leaves Belle stunned into silence, every poisonous thought she’s had about him shaken to the core.


	34. Chapter 34

Bent over the morning’s reports in her office, Belle is even more painfully aware of Rumpelstiltskin’s presence in Collioure than she was when he first arrived.  She told him they would speak “later,” but she has no idea what that means precisely.  A day?  A week?  What does he expect?  Should she care?  Should she go to him?  Does she want to?  Really, that’s the only question that matters.  What does she _want_?  She doesn’t know, and she’s almost afraid that speaking with Rumpelstiltskin could lead her to make the wrong decision, whatever that might be.

The end is inevitable, probably.  She gave up his offer to claim he never arrived, and now if she sends him away, she’ll be defying the king.  There’s a stubborn, surly part of her that dares King Xavier to make a fuss, to travel all the way out to lonely little Collioure and try to force a husband on her.  Odds are he wouldn’t bother, but she knows she can’t take the chance.  Fairly high on the list of qualities a governor should have is loyalty to the crown.  Even if it sits on the head of a presumptuous, meddling ass.

So, she knows that much about being a governor.  But she doesn’t know how a governor... courts.  Or, is courted.  Belle’s too embarrassed to ask if Colette and Maurice ever thought she would be in this situation at all.  Perhaps they decided she was just too strange, too much of an anomaly, to attract a man.  But, apparently she’s not.  Her pulse thrums as Rumpelstiltskin’s words echo back to her- _I wanted to serve you... as your lover, if you’d have me._ Gods, _would_ she?  Belle doesn’t recall this uncomfortable fluttery feeling in her chest being mentioned in any of the romances she’s read.

She turns her mind to the histories in the library.  They describe marriage as a means to an end.  It brokered peace, it united households, it moved resources.  It produced heirs.  Her mind hastily retreats from that notion.

 _I wanted to serve you... as your friend._   Rumpelstiltskin said that too.  Perhaps that’s where Belle should start.  Reading in the library, talking by the fire on Olene’s day, learning how to use a dagger- these memories of Rumpelstiltskin settle and warm Belle’s nervous heart.  She wants to find that again.  That’s what she wants.

She can’t do that hiding in her office.  She finishes her work and ventures out around midday, wondering where to find Rumpelstiltskin.  He isn’t in the library taking shelter from the swarm of people who no doubt wish to exuberantly welcome him back.  She won’t check his chambers- her cheeks go pink at the thought.  She wanders out of the castle, and decides she might as well complete her inspection of the construction site while she’s looking.

Even if she hadn’t commanded every able villager to pitch in on building the gate, the last attack seemed to provide plenty of motivation.  They finished removing the chosen section of the wall within a week.  Now the massive doors are being constructed.  They’ve started at the hinges and worked inward, since the doors will be too large to build separately and then lift into place.  It’s going smoothly, if perpetually slower than Belle would like.  The image of the dead ogre lying sprawled across the boundary never leaves her.

She’s come at a slow time, as half the work force has paused to collect a bowl of soup and mug of ale for their lunch.  As Belle’s gaze runs along the line of people, it stops short as she notices Rumpelstiltskin among them, talking with one of his archers.

She should go.  It would be rude to interrupt.  She’s turned to flee when she hears Rumpelstiltskin call, “Belle!”

He’s already jogging over to her when she turns back around, shoulders hunched.  _A friend, you want to be friends_ , she reminds herself, and twists her mouth into a smile.  “Hello.”

“Good day.  I’m glad to see you.  Ah, I’m sorry, for just then, for...  Look, can I call you Belle?”  He asks this with a wince, as if she’s going to rage at him.

“You have before,” she reminds him.  Mostly when they were in mortal danger, but still.

“And you’ve called me Rumpel.  You could, again.  I mean, I’d like that.”

There’s surely nothing untoward about that, if they’re friends.  Or otherwise involved.  “All right.”

“Good.  Thank you.”  His eyes wander over to the gate.  “This is coming along well.”

“It’d better,” Belle replies, “The season’s not over yet.”

“Indeed.”

“Did you see any of them on your way here?”

“Distantly.  I should’ve said earlier- King Xavier is amassing his full army for a push south, to clear out the largest hordes once and for all.  It will take time, I wouldn’t expect them here before next summer, but I think learning what Collioure has endured is what pushed him to act.”

Belle stares at Rumpelstiltskin.  “You- are you certain of this?”

“Yes.  Apparently there was some internal debate about making me lord of Collioure or an officer in this final assault.  I suppose I would’ve ended up here one way or another.”

He grins.  Belle steps forward and throws her arms around his shoulders, tugging him firmly against her.  “You’re saying it’s almost _over_ , Rumpel,” she whispers, burning eyes screwed shut as she presses her head to his chest.

He lays his cheek on her hair and rests his hands on her back.  “I believe that’s the plan.  I should’ve told you yesterday, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Belle mutters before stepping away.  That’s when she notices just about every person within about a hundred feet is staring at them.  Her cheeks flame and she does her best not to cringe.  Instead, she lifts her chin and approaches the people getting lunch.  “By this time next year,” she announces, “Our land may very well be _free_ of ogres!”

For a moment, they’re as stunned as she was.  Slowly, the clapping starts, and grows to wild cheers.  People slap each other’s backs, or shake hands, or embrace.  Broad smiles decorate every face.  Some are streaked with tears.  For now it’s only the hope of victory, of peace and liberty at last.  But Belle knows how far hope can carry her people.

She turns away and begins walking, snagging Rumpelstiltskin’s hand as she goes.  “Come on.  We have to tell the council.  We have to tell everyone.”

It’s one of the better afternoons Belle can remember, walking all around Collioure spreading the good news with Rumpelstiltskin.  They end at the closed door of the lord’s chambers.  Rumpelstiltskin drags the fingers of one hand through his hair and tugs at the hem of his jerkin.  Belle lifts an eyebrow and remarks, “You’ve already _slept_ beside her, you know.”

“Yes, but- things are different now.”  His other hand, the one wrapped around Belle’s, squeezes gently.

“Apparently,” she mumbles while her heart does that fluttery thing again.  She focuses her attention on knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Colette answers.

They step in to find the sitting room empty.  “Mother, Rumpelstiltskin and I are here,” Belle calls toward the bedroom.

Colette steps out after a moment, wearing a flat smile.  She did what she could to calm Belle’s anger at Rumpelstiltskin’s potential betrayal, but only so that Belle could channel it most effectively, if needed.  Her own outrage on Belle’s behalf was of a cold, seething variety that Belle admired.  However, ultimately she’s glad to let Colette catch sight of her hand clasped in Rumpelstiltskin’s, and to watch the chill seep from her face.  They share the news of King Xavier’s army pushing south, and Colette’s eyes flick shut as she lets out a breath Belle reckons she’s been holding for over three years.

“That is wonderful,” she says, “We ought to celebrate.  It’s nearly time for supper.  I’ll have Susanne bring up a bottle of chouchen.”

“Sounds lovely.”  Belle turns to Rumpelstiltskin, “Um, do you want to join us?  I’m sorry I’ve commandeered your day.”

“I’m not complaining.  I’d quite like to join you.”

Colette drags her desk chair from the bedroom to join the two chairs at the sitting room table and they chat while awaiting supper.

“I swear Maurice must’ve jumped three feet when she popped out from under there,” Colette is saying, eyes dancing with humor.

Belle shrugs a shoulder, “Well, he should’ve stayed away from that desk.  He knew it was my fort.  He disturbed my to-read pile.”

Colette chuckles warmly, though not without an undercurrent of grief.  “The library was-”

The watch trumpets sound.  Colette’s face goes even grayer.  Everyone waits, not moving, not breathing.  The trumpets don’t blast again.  Belle stands and moves swiftly to Colette’s side.  “Two, there are only two, Mother.  Captain Fa and the soldiers can handle two.  I promise.”

Colette says nothing, just grimaces deeply and curls against Belle, already shaking.

Belle murmurs soothing words she hopes aren’t lies as the seconds tick by.

A crash makes them all jump.  Rumpelstiltskin gets to his feet.  “I should see if I can help, just in case.”

“Yes, go,” Belle replies.  He pauses for an instant, just looking at her.  Then he turns and leaves.

Belle wraps her arms around Colette and endures while the attack drags on for what feels like hours but is probably less than ten minutes.

She only dares to breathe after the all-clear tune emanates to them.  Then she carefully rises, both hands still firmly on Colette.  “Mother, how are you feeling?”

“Awful.  But, it seems you were right, happily.”

“I’d like to go check the damage, but not if you want me to stay.”

Colette pats her hand.  “I’m not going to wither and blow away, darling.  Let me know how bad it is later, won’t you?”

“All right.”  She kisses Colette’s cheek before making her way out of the castle and into the village.  The roads are deserted, everyone wisely taking cover in their homes.  Or perhaps not so wisely, considering what happened last time.  Belle keeps walking.  At the construction site, she sees a large tree has been ripped from the ground and hurled directly on top of the partially-built gate.  Belle releases a sigh, feeling her hope drain out with it.  It’s not over, not yet.


	35. Chapter 35

As Belle stares at the freshly ruined gate, Captain Fa approaches, her face grim.

“Look what our neighbors have given us- new wood,” Belle quips, “How helpful.”

“This was deliberate,” Captain Fa says while studying the tree, “The ogres appeared, one threw the tree, then they vanished.  This wasn’t an attack.  The point was to wreck the gate.”

A chill passes through Belle at her words.  “Did you hear about the army’s push south?” she asks, trying to hide a desperate edge in her voice, “We just need to hold out until then.”

“Maybe.  That’s what I’m worried about.”

“What do you mean?”

She faces Belle.  “Ogres fight first, always.  But, I’m concerned that as the army approaches, some of them might try to escape.  The horde in that cave- they’re strong, and smarter than average.  It seems likely they’ll run.  And if they do, they’ll come straight to Collioure.  Maybe all of them.”

They’re in no position to fight off an entire horde.  Even if the wall still stood, Belle would have her doubts.  “What do you suggest then?”

“I think it’s time we took the fight to them.”  She pauses and gives an equivocating tilt of her head.  “However, that strategy has its own risks.  I need to know more about the cave.  Let me discuss this with Sir Rumpel, and I’ll come back to you with a plan.  Do you agree?”

“You’re welcome to try,” Belle says.  It wouldn’t hurt to imagine how they might get rid of their biggest threat, even if she personally doesn’t see a way.  The irony is exquisite- Collioure has survived for so long, and now it may fall because the army coming to save them will push the horde into attacking.

Captain Fa heads back to her camp, and Belle wanders down to get a better look at the damage.  Rumpelstiltskin comes to her side.  “They’re getting brazen,” he remarks.

“Fa thinks they’ll all be on our doorstep before long.  Chased here by the army.  Won’t that be an interesting day.”

“We’ll have to act first then.”

“Talk with her about it.  Tell me what you come up with.  I’m going back to Mother.”

Belle sees little of Rumpelstiltskin for the next few days.  The sound of saws float on the air as the tree is hacked up and removed.  Her remark wasn’t all dark humor- they can build with this wood.  Unless the ogres wreck it all over again.

Captain Fa and Rumpelstiltskin arrive together at the day’s council meeting, determined looks on both of their faces.  “All right, let’s hear it,” Belle says, trying not to dread what’s to come.

“I propose to take three hundred soldiers to the cave and kill as many ogres as possible,” Captain Fa states.

“And how do you expect to do this without every last one of you dying?” Belle inquires.

Rumpelstiltskin sits forward, “It’s not as impossible as it sounds.  The cave is wide within, but the entrance is narrow, only big enough for one ogre at a time.  We can handle that, if we press our advantage.”

“Which is?”

“It involves the moss,” Captain Fa replies, “Sir Rumpel says you’ve been thinking about weaponizing it.  So have I.  In my home country, we have certain chemicals that when mixed together can create a burst of energy when exposed to flame.  I think-”

“Wait,” Belle interrupts.  She opens a drawer in her desk and pulls out a book of vertical calligraphy.  During her spare moments, or when she needs a break from bleak reports, she’s gone back to her attempt at translation.  Now, she turns to a certain page and holds it out to Captain Fa.  “Do you mean something like this?”

Her eyes go wide as she takes the book.  “I- yes, this is from my land.  How did it end up here?”

“It came in with a sea merchant years ago,” Belle explains simply, “You can read it?  I’ve never had much confidence in my translation.”

“I can read it.  This is perfect.  To be honest, I didn’t know the exact measurements to use.  We might have wasted a lot of effort on trial and error.  Now we can get started right away.”

“Wonderful, and what will we be starting?”

Rumpelstiltskin answers her, “We want to dry out as much moss as possible and turn it into a powder.  Captain Fa will mix these chemicals and attach a portion of them to packages of the moss.  We place these packages at the mouth of the cave, and set them off as the ogres emerge.  The moss will be projected into the air, which ought to be quite unpleasant for them.  While they’re disabled, we attack.  And we don’t stop until the work is done.”

It makes a modicum of sense, amongst the millions of ways it could all go wrong.  Brevet puts forth just one, “And what if they don’t come out of the cave?”  
  
“Well, if you can say anything good about ogres, they aren’t cowards.  They will respond to three hundred soldiers outside their nest.  If some do stay behind, I recall seeing a small opening at the top of the main cavern.  Air moves from the entrance to that hole- it will carry the powdered moss inside, which will drive any stragglers out.”

“Assuming it is as potent as you believe it is,” Brevet points out.

“I’ve seen the way they react to it,” Captain Fa says, “The moss alone is definitely an irritant.  Now imagine that inside your lungs.”  Everyone grimaces a little at the thought.  Belle almost feels sorry for the beasts.  “It will be a long day.  But it can end with our biggest threat eliminated.”

“It could work,” Belle says quietly, eyes on her desk, “But I want you to know exactly what you’re doing with these chemicals.  The last thing we need is to inflict injuries on our own soldiers, or spark a wildfire in the forest.”

“Of course,” Captain Fa says with a sober nod.

“Even if the king’s army doesn’t push them out, it’s only a matter of time before they attack again, and they know the gate is our weak spot.  We have to strike first.”

“I agree,” Brevet says, “Best do it now, while we’ve got supplies and moss to spare.”

It’s almost unreal how the harvested areas in the sea cave are now soft and hilly with new growth.  Belle isn’t much concerned over whether or not they have enough for the mission, just how long it will take to dry it all out.  Every day that passes she expects the ogres to follow through on the threat they made by smashing the gate.  Belle goes to the library every night to calm her nerves with a book, and Rumpelstiltskin’s quiet presence.

One evening, he arrives with an unlit candle in hand instead of a book.  Belle is not yet lost in the pages of her own selection, leaving her just enough attention to notice him sit down and contemplate the candle briefly, then wrap a hand around its wick-end.  White light flashes between his fingers and he lets go, revealing a growing flame.

Belle smiles, “That’s a useful trick.”

He shoots a grin at her sideways.  “Isn’t it?  I’ve never done it before.  See, the packages will have wicks similar to this, and I was thinking it would help if we could light them without a flint and tinder, once we reach the cave.  Every second counts, after all.”  He blows out the flame, then lights it again the same way.

“And you’ve never done this before?”

His eyes fix on Belle and he gives her a soft, awkward smile.  “Yes.  I never thought I could, before.  Do you know why?”

She shakes her head.

“The magic feels closer to me, when I’m here.  I’m not reaching for it anymore.  And I’m not afraid it won’t be there, I think, because... I know it’s for you.  I want to serve you however I can.  So does my magic.”

Belle has no idea how to react to that, beyond dumbly murmuring, “Oh.”

Rumpelstiltskin coughs and scratches at the back of his head.  “Anyway, I might practice a little more in my chambers.  Good night, Belle.”

“Yes, uh, good night, Rumpel,” she hurries to say before he’s gone, the library door shut swiftly behind him.  “Well done,” she grumbles at herself.  But what on Earth was she supposed to say?  Aside from the water enchantment, magic has no place in Belle’s life, and that’s fine with her.  But it’s a part of Rumpelstiltskin, possibly a growing part.  It makes her nervous.

The next day, she joins Brevet, Captain Fa, and Rumpelstiltskin on the beach near the sea cave for a demonstration of the explosive chemicals.  She watches Rumpelstiltskin easily light the long wick attached to one small parcel that’s buried a few inches under the sand.  It hisses as it burns down, and Belle’s pulse picks up as the tiny flame gets closer and closer.  It disappears down a thin reed tube connected to the parcel, and a second later, everyone jumps as a _bang_ sounds and sand shoots straight up to Belle’s height.

“Right,” Captain Fa says as sand particles patter down on the beach, “That’s good.  I think we’ll double it for the real thing.  Does that sound correct, Sir Rumpel?”

“Yes.  Any more could be too violent.”

“Lady Belle, are you comfortable with this?”

She nods, eyes on the small crater left in the sand as she imagines the first ogre to get a face full of powdered moss.  Grim satisfaction follows the fantasy.  It is well past time the people of Collioure struck back against their tormentors, instead of forever fending them off.

As she leaves the beach, Rumpelstiltskin jogs up beside her.  “Belle, I wondered if I could join you and Lady Colette for supper again.”

Belle smiles, thinking of the pleasant and too brief time they shared earlier.  “I’m sure that’d be fine.”

“Thank you.  I wanted to see if Lady Colette had any information she could share from her time in the cave.”

Belle’s smile falls.  “You can ask if she would like to discuss her time in the cave, and abide by her answer.”

A hint of frustration flashes across his face, but he nods, “As you say.”

That evening, Rumpelstiltskin at least waits until they’ve finished their meal before turning to Colette to say, “My lady, you’ve likely heard the moss has finished drying and we’ll soon be leaving for the cave.”

Colette’s spine stiffens as she sips her tea.  “I’m aware.”

“If you could tell me anything you remember from before your rescue, it might be very helpful to us.”

Colette blinks slowly and her eyes move to Rumpelstiltskin.  “Like what?”

“Well, like how many openings the main cavern had-”

“It was too dark to see, and I had other things to worry about.”

“All right.  How many adults and how many young-”

“I considered them all an equal threat, so I didn’t differentiate between them.  But I’m not certain the entire horde ever occupied the cave at once.”

“I see.  How many stood guard while the others slept?”

“There were...” Colette’s voice dies and her gaze loses focus.  Helpless fear and sorrow fill her face as some terrible memory grips her.

“My lady, how many stood guard?”  Rumpelstiltskin leans closer, and he wraps a hand around her arm.

Colette flinches hard and all but throws herself away from him, almost falling from her chair.  Belle is at her side in an instant.  “ _Stop this now_ ,” she commands, fixing a fiery glare on Rumpelstiltskin.

He has the decency to look ashamed.  “A-apologies, my ladies.  I didn’t...”

“I’m fine,” Colette says with wide eyes and shaking hands, “No harm done, just...  There were always at least two.  Always.”

“Many thanks, Lady Colette.  I’ll... I’ll say good night.”

“Good night, Sir Rumpel,” she whispers.

Belle says nothing, holding her glare until the door shuts behind him.  “How dare he push you,” she growls.

Colette’s eyes slip shut.  “Be calm, dear.  It was for the sake of the mission, and I’m glad to help.”

Belle blows out an angry breath, wishing she could say hang the mission if it causes her mother pain.  But she can’t.  “He shouldn’t have pushed you,” she grumbles stubbornly.

“He’s not your enemy, Belle.”

“I know that!” she snaps, and grimaces at her own stab of shame.  She moves back to her own chair and sits with hunched shoulders.  “I don’t know what he is,” she softly admits.

“I felt the same way once, about your father.”

That draws Belle’s attention.  “What?”

“You know he was a commoner, who joined the army during King Hector’s reign.”

“Yes.  He was from Avonlea.”

“Well, one day he and Brevet were serving on the guard for Prince Xavier.  His carriage was traveling between villages in the Blue Mountains when the road gave way.  Maurice was attempting to extract the prince from his carriage when it fell into the river below, taking them both with it.  It was three days before they were rescued.  Maurice kept the prince alive, saved his life.  And afterwards, he was rewarded with a knighthood, a lordship... and me.”

Maurice never talked much about his past.  He worried it would jeopardize his standing with other members of nobility if his low-born origin was widely known.  Belle’s automatic pride for his heroic deed is tempered by outrage on behalf of the young Colette, who was made some stranger’s prize without her knowledge or consent.  At least Belle knows Rumpelstiltskin.

“My life was very different from yours, dear.  I never had power, or much authority.  Even though I was your grandfather’s only surviving child, I existed solely to marry and provide an heir.  Keep the castle’s business running smoothly.  I... I felt I could do more.  But I was never given the chance.  And then, in a blink, I was to be married, to someone I never met.  It was difficult to bear, at first.  Maurice had no clue how to be lord and governor of a village.  Your grandfather was already sickly, and so couldn’t teach him.  The task fell to me.  And, happily, we worked things out.  Together.”  A warm smile spreads across her face.  “We even found time to fall in love.  And when we decided to have a child, we also decided that, no matter their gender, they would be named the heir of Collioure at birth.  And so you were, my darling.”

Belle smiles, but it fades into a scowl just as fast.  “And yet it’s happened all over again.  Heir or not, I’m still a trophy to be handed over to the first man who impresses the king.”

“It is disgraceful that your will should have so little value in this matter,” Colette says, “But it needn’t be a death sentence.  I believe you could be lucky, as I was.  You could find a true partner.  A friend.  It can be done.”

Belle looks at her mother, and her heart feels slightly too big.  “That’s what I want.”

Colette grins, “Well, if I know anything about my daughter, it’s that she gets what she wants.”

Belle allows a corner of her mouth to curl up before she says, “It’s worth the effort.”  But then worry closes in and she murmurs, “I just hope I get the chance.”


	36. Chapter 36

The mission’s chosen soldiers amass in the farmers’ fields at first light.  Belle, Colette, and Brevet come out to see the company off.  Rumpelstiltskin trails after them on horseback, already encased in his gold armor.  He directs his mount to face Colette and Belle, his gaze barely flickering over their faces as he nods to them both.  He lowers his helmet’s visor as soon as he turns to join Captain Fa on her own horse.

The riot of things Belle can’t say, demands she can’t make, promises she can’t keep swarm in her head and hang on her heart.  She shoves it all away in the space of a few steps forward.  Then, she lifts her chin to address the company, “My village has been at the mercy of ogres ever since they first invaded our land.  They are responsible for my father’s death, and the abduction and torment of my mother.  They’ve ended the lives of many, and irreparably damaged scores more.  All this, we’ve endured.  Fought when we could, just to survive another season.  But that ends today!  When you meet the ogres in battle, know that the hopes and prayers, the courage and strength of all Collioure is with you.  And we thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, for your service.” Her gaze travels over the company and lands on Rumpelstiltskin.  “Please come back to us.”

She almost dares to think he nudges his horse to come closer.  But then the company lets out a cheer, and Captain Fa rallies them to begin their march into the forest.  And Rumpelstiltskin leads his horse around to take his place alongside her.

Belle, Colette, and Brevet don’t stay to watch the company depart.  As a hint of pink touches the horizon and mist rises in the fields, they journey back through the ruins.  Brevet stops at the camp and assumes his place as the temporary commander of the remaining soldiers.  Belle and Colette pause at the gate to watch them interlock their shields into a barrier that will remain until the mission ends.

Sitting behind her desk, Belle doesn’t bother being surprised to find the day’s reports already waiting.  She chooses instead to grin at her inexorable list of duties.  Will it be at all different if peace actually comes?  Belle can hardly imagine a world where something, somewhere doesn’t require her urgent attention.

She’s comparing food inventories from this year and last when someone knocks softly at her door.  “Come in,” she says, not looking up as she hears the slight rattle of a saucer and plate on a tray.

The maid places the tray on a corner of Belle’s desk, and then comes to stand before it, drawing Belle’s attention.  Verna faces her, hands tucked behind her back.

Belle blinks, “Oh, good morning.  How are you?”

She hasn’t seen Verna since the attack that claimed her friend.  She looks steady, if pale and drawn.  “Well enough, my lady.  I heard...  Someone said you had my bow.”

The words come out a little rushed, as if spoken before she could lose her nerve.  But once they’re out Belle sees no regret, just twin flames of conviction burning in Verna’s eyes.

“Someone is correct,” Belle says before reaching under her desk and extracting it.  She wasn’t sure where else to keep it.  It felt wrong to leave it in sight, as if on display.

Verna takes it, eyes roving over every inch, hands clenching the grip and testing the string.  “They want archers in the watch posts,” she says, almost too softly for Belle to hear, “They want the best of us.  That’s me.  Remy wouldn’t let me hide.  Not now.”

Unable to think of anything to say that doesn’t sound horribly trite, Belle simply replies, “Thank you, Verna.”

She holds the bow at her side and stands up straight, head high and shoulders back.  “Good day, my lady.”

“Good day.”

She marches out of the office, leaving Belle once again astonished by her people’s indomitable bravery.  Their defenders may fall, their homes may burn, but they will fight to the very last if they have to.  Belle’s only job is to see that they don’t, as best she can.  And that starts with keeping daily affairs in order.

She makes it all the way through her paperwork before finally acknowledging the worry and fear that is eating her alive.  She shoves herself away from her desk, a tight fist pressed to her mouth as she tries to breathe her heartrate back to normal.  _Just breathe.  Breathe with me._

Her mind reels away from torturous memories of that night in the library, what she could’ve done differently, what she should have said when she had the chance.  She let Rumpelstiltskin believe it was impossible to be her friend when he was in fact the only friend she had, and for what?  Pride?  Some residual anger at Gaston?  Was she really just that utterly terrified of the entire world?  She will tell him.  She’ll stop all this foolish, false indecision.  She’ll be honest.  As soon as he comes back.  He just needs to _come back._

She stands and starts walking with no destination in mind.  She considers hiding away with Colette, but she doesn’t want to expose her mother to her raw fear.  Aimless yet hurried steps take her outside the castle on the forest side.  She spots a woman carrying what looks like a good amount of her earthly possessions on her back heading swiftly for the sea side, presumably to wait in the long house.  That’s not a bad idea, but Belle doesn’t join her.  She keeps walking, until she finds herself standing below the western watch post.

“Verna!” she calls up.

A head appears, silhouetted by the sky.  “Yes?”

“Can I come up?”

“Oh, um, let me see...”  The head disappears, then reappears after a moment.  “All right!”

Belle lays the bulk of her skirts over one arm and ascends the rope ladder.  At the top, a watch member and Verna hold out their hands for Belle to hoist herself the rest of the way up.  “That’s a long climb,” she gasps.

“It’s not so bad,” says the watch member, clawing his curly hair into a semblance of order.

“Did you need to speak with us, my lady?” Verna asks.

“Um, no.  I just...”  She searches for a way to explain herself, “I needed to see, this time.  I need to know as soon as possible if...”

Her throat closes, rather than voice any of the good and bad fates that might find them today.

There are three watch members, and three archers including Verna.  They all exchange glances, but no one seems willing to tell her to go.  So she doesn’t.  She moves to the area of the watch post that faces out onto the ruins, the fields, and the forest.  The sun is high now- the company must be closing in on the cave.  A breeze sweeps by, and Belle draws in a deep breath of it, willing her mind to clear and her eyes to sharpen.

The day carries on.  She doesn’t move.  Doesn’t speak.  She will wait, and watch, until she sees whatever there is to see.

She’s not sure what she expects.  The echoes of explosions?  Clouds of powdered moss on the horizon?  Captain Fa’s shouted orders floating on the air?  The flash of Rumpelstiltskin’s magic?  It’s all happening too far away, of course.  She’ll never know what’s happened until it’s all over.

At some point she feels a tap on her shoulder.  “They’re changing shifts, my lady,” someone says, “Do you want to go down now?”

“No, thank you.”

“All right.”

She’s left alone.

What if they never come back?  Fa, Rumpelstiltskin, every last soldier- what if they just disappear?  What if she’s left forever waiting, forever wondering?  She might go mad, if she never gets to say the things she needs to say.  The story can’t end here, like this.  It won’t.  Not for the great and fabled hero, the splendid Light One, the astonishing Sir Rumpelstiltskin.

At last, as the sun touches the horizon, she spots movement among the trees.  It’s a little too dim to be sure of what she sees, but nonetheless she points at it eagerly and cries, “There!  There, look!”

Her fellow watchers come to her side.  There’s more movement in the forest.  More and more.  Bigger.  Whole trees swaying.  Belle’s blood runs cold.

“Oh gods,” the man beside her gasps.  He grabs the trumpet on the floor of the watch post and directs it toward the castle.  Belle’s heart clenches and her ears ring as the warning call is sounded once.  “Emile, how many more?”

“Uh, not sure...  let me...”

“Four more,” Belle says as her eyes trace hulking shapes between branches.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

The trumpet blasts twice.  Belle feels a hand on her arm.  “My lady, you should go-”

“Are you mad?” Verna snaps, the hand is pulled away, “She won’t make it down the ladder and back to the castle in time if they break through the shields.  Keep her here.  Godard, Louis, get in line.  Hold and aim.”

The archers nock arrows and direct them at the tree line, waiting for their targets to emerge.  Belle faintly hears Brevet in the camp below, roaring his own orders.  Spearmen and the army’s archers line up.  In the eastern watch post, the other archers ready themselves to shoot.

Bellows emanate from the forest, sounding more ferocious and ugly than Belle has ever heard them.  Seconds later the first beasts tear through the trees and charge into the fields.  Brevet calls, “FIRE!” and a rain of arrows fly.  One ogre falls, a few take bolts to their chests and shoulders with hardly a flinch, some slap the barrage away with wide swipes of their massive arms.  While the archers nock fresh arrows, the biggest ogre bends down and runs, heading straight for the line of shields.

When it’s three loping strides away, the soldiers holding shields in its path let go and move aside.  It hits, and the line curves around to absorb the momentum, soldiers digging their feet into the earth as the shields’ interlocking pieces groan at the strain.  The instant the ogre slows, spearmen attack, jabbing hard at the nearest part of its thick hide.  It roars and swings its arms out but can’t hit the soldiers over the shields trapping it.

Other spearmen have rushed from behind the line to engage the other four ogres.  The archers in the watch posts focus on them as well.  Belle cries out when she sees an ogre smack down a spear with one fist and bash the other into the attacking soldier.  She grabs Verna’s shoulder and pulls her close.  “Shoot!  There, that one!  Now!”

Verna already has an arrow in hand.  She nocks it and aims, and her shot burrows into the ogre’s throat.  Its roar comes out as a gurgle as it rears back, clawing at the bolt.  The wounded soldier rolls onto his feet and staggers away behind the line of shields.

Belle barely notices when a trumpet sounds again, the just barely familiar tune catching her ear.  She’s only heard it once before.  When the army arrived.

And so it has.  Captain Fa on her horse leaps from the tree line, followed by a wave of soldiers.  The ogre with the injured throat falls on numerous spears.  The three remaining beasts are surrounded, but that seems to just make them angrier.  They run into the ruins and begin scooping up chunks of stone and wood to hurl at the soldiers.  Not all are able to dodge the projectiles.

“Hold and aim, six o’clock!” Verna shouts, signaling her fellow archers to nock arrows and target the ogre closest to them.  “Release!”

The arrows fly, but the ogre has half-turned away when they reach it.  Two arrows thud into its shoulder and another into its skull, but not deep enough to kill.  It growls and grabs a huge piece of rubble in both hands.  The archers only have time to knock arrows before it hurls the projectile.  Reality slows to a crawl as it almost seems to float up in a graceful curve coming directly at the watch post.  Belle is frozen as her doom approaches.

Then, white light flashes, and the projectile bursts into pebble-sized bits that rain down harmlessly on the watch post.  Now miraculously unfrozen, Belle dashes to the rail of the watch post to spot a small figure in silly gold armor.  Belle almost laughs, until she sees the ogre barely three steps from him, fist raised.  She grabs Verna again, points at the beast and screams, “SHOOT!”

Verna draws the bow, aims, fires- the ogre goes limp and topples with an arrow in its eye socket.  A wave of relief turns Belle’s legs to water and she falls to her knees.  Dozens of soldiers have converged on the last two ogres, felling them quickly.

And then it’s over.  The ruins and fields are quiet.  Belle looks to the forest, and finds it still.  No more trees swaying against an ogre’s bulk.  She lays her head on the rail, eyes closed, trying to breathe without sobbing.

Someone sits beside her.  She cracks her eyes open to find Verna giving her a tired grin.  “That’s done then,” she states.

Belle dissolves into hoarse chuckles while tears slip down her face.  When they die away, she whispers, “I think I’d like to go down now.”

“All right.”

Verna climbs down first, and Belle gingerly follows, focusing hard on each rung.  Verna holds her steady on the last part, and the ground feels wonderfully solid as she plants her feet on it.

“Belle?” she hears, and turns to find Rumpelstiltskin coming through the gap, the visor of his helmet raised.  He runs the rest of the way to her, and she has to hold in a laugh at how he clanks.  “What by all the gods are you doing out here?”

For a moment, Belle just stares at his sweat-streaked face.  “I was waiting for you- for the army...”  No, she promised herself she’d be honest.  “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh,” he breathes, then seems to forget all language.

“We can discuss this later,” Belle says, taking pity on him, “You need to rest.”

He blinks slowly and mutters, “Right.  Rest.”  A healer approaches them, and Belle lets him take Rumpelstiltskin into his capable hands.

“Oh, he’s lost for you, my lady,” Verna croons near Belle’s ear.

“I’m pretty sure that’s just acute exhaustion,” she replies with a chuckle, “Excuse me, I need to check on my mother.”

She walks away, head held high and her step quick, and almost feels like she’s floating.


	37. Chapter 37

The next day Belle decides not to seek Rumpelstiltskin out.  Not right away.  He’s just been to battle, he doesn’t need her dumping a bucket of sentimentality on him.  After she’s done her work, she spends most of the afternoon with Colette, who weathered the attack well, though she was not at all pleased to learn Belle was at the heart of it.

At sunset, she ventures to the library.  If Rumpelstiltskin happens by, then that will be his choice.  She travels into the stacks, looking for something she’s read less than three times.  As she wanders deeper, she hears the doors open faintly, and her heart jumps.  For a moment, some strange panic bars her legs from carrying her to the door where Rumpelstiltskin softly calls her name.  She’s just forced herself to shuffle to the end of the row when another voice stops her.

“Hey, Sir Rumpel, can I speak with you?” Martine asks.

“Oh, hello, what is it?” 

“I wanted to ask, how’d the whole bit with the moss work out?”

“Very well, gladly.  In fact, the ogres who got the worst of it actually collapsed on their own.  Couldn’t seem to breathe right.  Saved us poor souls a lot of effort.”

“Right, right.  So, you think other people’d want it?  They’d want their own moss, to protect their villages.”

“Definitely.  At least until the king’s army is done its final push.  Maybe even after, just to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Right then.  I’ll think up a price for it.  Cheers.”

“Wait, a price?  I didn’t...  Lady Belle has never mentioned selling the moss.”

“Well, yeah, but you just said-”

“I _said_ I think other people would like to use it as protection.  That’s all.  I didn’t give you any instructions on the matter.  Nor would I.”

Belle hears Martine’s light scoff.  “Why not though?  You’re the lord of Collioure, or as good as.  I know what the king said.  Relax, Lady Belle won’t mind when the coin comes into the treasury.”

In the shadows, Belle’s stomach has gone cold.  This is the moment she’ll find out if she can actually trust Rumpelstiltskin.  If he’ll be her partner, or take power for himself.  With preemptive anger swelling in her chest, she silently demands, _Betray me.  Betray me.  BETRAY ME._

“Lord or not, that isn’t my decision to make.  Not without discussing it with Lady Belle first.  I’m surprised you’d think otherwise.  Is that all?”

“Yeah, I s’pose.  Good night then.”

“Good night.”

Belle’s anger dissolves into cool relief.  Her head falls against the shelf beside her, and she lets a smile spread across her face.  Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin calls to her once more.  She stays silent, unwilling to reveal her eavesdropping, no matter how much she’d like to launch herself into his arms.  He leaves, and Belle waits a few extra minutes before scurrying back to her chambers.

She hardly sleeps that night.  An odd, bubbly energy has infected her limbs, driving her to pace around her room, still wearing a ridiculous smile.  Eventually she climbs into bed and manages to drift off, only to wake almost too late for the council meeting.  She’s only taken her first sip of tea from the chipped cup when Brevet arrives, followed shortly by Captain Fa, Arnaud, Rumpelstiltskin, and Martine.

“Good morning, everyone,” she says, “I hope you’re rested and recovered.”

“Same to you, my lady,” Brevet replies with a raised eyebrow, “Don’t know what you thought you were doing up in the watch post.”

“Sorry to have worried you, but I was just fine.  Verna and the archers and watch members looked after me perfectly well.”

“Except for the part where you almost took a direct hit from an ogre’s throw.”

“ _Almost_ ,” she retorts, “But didn’t, thanks to Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s excellent reflexes.”

Her savior’s cheeks darken and he studies his lap.  “It was no matter.”

“Anyway,” Belle says, sobering herself, “It was a victory.  But what was the cost?”

“Twelve dead, Cleric Victurnien is attending to them now,” Captain Fa answers, “Thirty-five wounded, six severely.  It could’ve been much worse.  The powdered moss was very effective.”

Martine perks up, “Right, yeah, so maybe-”

Belle cuts him off, “We should consider ways to distribute it throughout the region then.  As soon as possible.  I won’t let _anyone_ live under the threat of ogre attacks if they can be protected.  It’s been decided.”

“That’s wise,” Rumpelstiltskin remarks quietly.  Belle’s heart thrums.

Arnaud coughs and sits forward, “Ah, excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering, now those in the cave are dead, maybe we could send the boats out.  Just for a day.”

Belle considers this, thinking back to the food reports she’s been monitoring.  It never hurts to have a surplus, and they might as well take advantage of the decreased threat.  “Yes, send them out.  For two days.”

Arnaud’s eyes light up and his smile is almost broad enough to be seen through his beard.  “Yeah, yes, will do, my lady.”

“Good.  So, is there anything else?”

“Nothing for me,” Brevet says.  Captain Fa shakes her head.  Martine shrugs sullenly.

“All right then.  Good day, everyone.”  As they begin to stand, Belle says, “Sir Rumpelstiltskin, would you wait a moment?”

He freezes, then lowers himself back down.  “Of course, my lady.”

“Thank you.”  The rest of the council files out, with admirably few curious looks thrown over their shoulders.  Once alone, Belle asks, “So, um, have you been outside today?  How is the weather?”

Rumpelstiltskin blinks in surprise, but eventually manages to say, “It’s fine.  Warmer than it’s been.”

“Excellent.  Have you- uh, have you visited the beach on the east side of sea cave?  It’s quite pretty.”

“I’ve not, no.”

Belle’s pulse races as she spits out, “Would you like to, today, with me?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyebrows are nearing his hairline.  He swallows and says, “Yes, very much.”

“All right then.  We can meet by the cave at midday.  Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good, that’s all, thank you.”  She drops her gaze to the reports before her.

Rumpelstiltskin stands and begins walking out, but pauses and taps a finger on the rim of the chipped cup with a soft laugh.  “I’m glad this wasn’t thrown out.”

Belle doesn’t dare look up as she murmurs, “So am I.”  He goes, and she dares to breathe again.  “That went well,” she reassures herself, even as she uncurls the fist in her lap.  She focuses as best she can on making up for the time she lost sleeping in, and is just about caught up by midday.

Outside, the air is fresh and bright, and indeed warmer than usual for autumn.  The dock and surrounding buildings hum with fishermen preparing for a voyage.  She must weave through them to get to the sea cave, where she finds Rumpelstiltskin sitting on an outcropping.  He has a basket with him which he lifts with an awkward smile.  “A little lunch, in case you’re hungry.”

Belle curses silently for not thinking of that herself.  “Wonderful.  Come on, this way.”

She leads him past the cave entrance and through a bit of forest that ends at a slope leading down to a small cove.  Belle watches sunshine glitter over softly lapping water as she lowers herself on the sand.  Rumpelstiltskin sits as well, setting the basket between them.  A comfortable silence unfurls as they breathe in the sea air and watch the tide.

“This isn’t pretty,” Rumpelstiltskin eventually says, “This is beautiful.”

Belle hums in agreement.  “I should visit more often.  But you know how it can be, you take things for granted that are always there.”

“Indeed.”

She turns her attention to the basket.  “So what did you sweet-talk out of Mistress Potts?”

He grins, “Not much, I’m afraid.  She’s a tough nut to crack, that one.”  He passes Belle a ham and cheese sandwich with a pear for dessert.

“You know, I... I’m not _happy_ about the attack yesterday, but I did get to see the interlocking shields in action.  A Frontlands invention, you said.”

“Aye, it is.”

“It was impressive.  It held back the biggest ogre in the horde.  I don’t dare think what might’ve happened if it broke through.”

“Certainly not.  The shield line has saved many lives, when used properly.  It does take a little work to get the locks to close.  Not something you want to try in the moment.”

“Right.  And the curve of them...”

“Always more useful than a flat shield.  I’ve seen ogre fists slide right off, no harm done.  It was a real help at the cave for our soldiers.”

“I’m sure.  And, you seemed to come out fairly unscathed, thankfully.”

He shrugs a shoulder.  “Well, my armor’s enchanted, so...”

Belle’s eyebrows jump.  “Oh, is that why it’s so...?”

“So what?”

“Nothing.”

He gives her suspicious squint.  “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing!  It’s just... It’s very bright.”

“It is.  I keep it well polished.”

Belle nods approvingly without laughing at all.  She turns her attention back to the water, and spots fishing boats sailing past the cove.  With a delighted cry, she jumps up and runs to the edge of the surf.  She waves her arm in wide arcs until the boats’ bells ring in response.  “Good luck!” she calls to them, then returns to Rumpelstiltskin, laughing and smiling from ear to ear.  She drops down onto her knees before him.  “I forgot how much I loved watching our boats go out.”

“Aye,” he says, and his hand rises, and rests on her cheek.

Belle’s smile dims, but only slightly.  Her pulse flutters as she lays her own hand over his.  A tiny gasp escapes him and his eyes are so wide, so deep, Belle’s already drowning in them.  “Close your eyes,” she whispers.

Some emotion darts through those eyes too fast for her to register, but then they flick shut.  Belle draws in and releases a breath before moving closer.  Her other hand comes up to brush his hair away from his face.  She lets her fingertips explore the fine lines at the corner of his eye before rounding the curve of his cheekbone.  She feels his breath ghost unevenly at her wrist, but he stays perfectly still, eyes shut.  Her palm moves down to cradle his jaw, finding a small scratchy spot he missed shaving.  She wets her lips and shifts closer.  Her other hand leaves his and curls over his shoulder.  Then her own eyes shut, and she closes the distance between them, just touching her lips to his.  The kiss is warm and soft, and intriguing in a way that makes her want to try again, this time tilting her head further and pressing a little more firmly.

Rumpelstiltskin lets out a low hum and moves slightly, causing his lower lip to slip between Belle’s.  She sucks at it curiously, tongue darting between her teeth to taste the pear’s sweetness.  Rumpelstiltskin’s other hand comes to her waist, squeezing slightly and pulling her closer.  Belle goes, allowing her hand to leave his jaw and slide into the warm fall of his hair.  Her head is spinning like she downed a bottle of chouchen, and her breath comes fast through her nose.

Rumpelstiltskin separates their mouths long enough to gasp, “Oh, Belle.”  Then he leans in again for kiss after dizzying kiss.  After minutes or hours later, he leans away, eyes open now and alight with wild hope.  “Belle,” he says between deep breaths and a dry swallow, as if he’s been running for miles, “Will you have me?”

Belle lets her forehead fall against his as heat flows through her whole body.  “Yes,” she whispers.

Her next kiss lands on his teeth as he smiles wide, and then she’s too busy laughing for him to kiss her.  She ends up hooking her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms firmly around him.  Her Rumpel.  His arms band around her waist, and for a while they simply stay like that, curled into one another, a perfect fit.

Only when Belle’s thighs start to cramp does she shift back, her slightly swollen lip held between her teeth, blushing at Rumpelstiltskin’s look of almost childlike wonder.  She glances away, and a skinny pine tree further to the east catches her eye.  “Oh, hey, I remember that.”

“What?”

“Past that tree, over the hill, there are tidepools.  I used to visit them with my parents.  It’s been ages since I went.  And definitely not during the war.  It’s... it wasn’t safe.”  She turns back to Rumpelstiltskin.  “Shall we go?”

He smiles crookedly.  “I’d love to.”

Belle takes his hand and guides him up.  Together, they walk past the tree and over the hill, to everything that lies beyond.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smutty chapter is over twice as long as all the other chapters? This is impossible. No one could have predicted this. I'm shocked.

When Rumpelstiltskin married Milah, some two or three centuries ago he feels, it was a simple event, even by peasant standards.  They received a short blessing from their local priest, then registered as a couple at the magistrate’s office, and that was it.  The harvest was upon the Frontlands, so no one had the time or energy for a wedding feast.  Both Milah and Rumpelstiltskin were back in the fields the next day, doing the necessary work to survive the winter.

Marrying Belle is in certain ways shockingly similar.  Rumpelstiltskin goes to the castle courtyard, exchanging nods and smiles with Cleric Victurnien and Captain Brevet.  He hardly has time to get nervous before Belle arrives with Lady Colette at her side.  They pause and lay a hand on Lord Maurice’s gravestone before coming to join the small party.  Belle’s chin is raised, her eyes clear.  She wears her fur-collared red cloak and when Rumpelstiltskin holds his hand out to her, she takes it without hesitation.  And he is astounded all over again by her strength and bravery.

Victurnien valiantly contains his tears of joy while giving his blessing and prayer to Olene for a happy, healthy, and prosperous future.  As soon as he’s done, they leave the courtyard and go to Belle’s office, where a large, thick book lies open across her desk.

At Rumpelstiltskin’s side, Belle says, “This is the archive of all the governors of Collioure.  My name was recorded here the day I took my father’s seat.  And your name will be added as my husband.”

It seems the page underwent some quick edits to accommodate a female governor.  Ink slashes through “Lord” on the line where he sees Belle’s name, “Husband of” has been replaced by “Wife of,” and beneath that “Lady” is also crossed out.  “I suppose my name goes there,” he offers, pointing to a blank spot next to the last update.

“That’s right.”  Belle leans over her desk to pick up a quill and dip it in an inkwell before holding it out to Rumpelstiltskin.  He winces his way through scrawling his name, realizing halfway through he hasn’t left enough room for the whole unwieldy thing and must cram the rest of it into the remaining space. 

(In the reign of  
**King Xavier I of House Verdes**  
the appointed  
Governor of Collioure  
is known and acknowledged as  
~~Lord~~ **Lady Belle of House French**  
the noble  
~~Husband of~~ **Wife of  
**~~Lady~~ **Sir Rumpelstiltskin**

Gods grant long life and honorable rule in accordance with the laws of Collioure)

“There, it’s done,” Belle says, her eyes studying Rumpelstiltskin’s face as if searching for any hint of regret.

He has none to show, except for how hideous his signature is next to the elegant calligraphy and artwork decorating the rest of the page.  He’d hardly written more than ten words in his life before becoming a knight.  He actually hired a tutor to refresh his knowledge of the particulars, yet he’s still barely proficient.  He keeps waiting for Belle to realize what a lowly specimen he is, just a scrawny spinner from a tiny village who somehow managed to perform a useful trick.  But she hasn’t yet, and Rumpelstiltskin decides to enjoy this grace period for as long as he can.  “It’s done,” he echoes, trying to infuse his voice with all the satisfaction he feels.

Victurnien peers at the page and frowns, saying, “Oh, well, hm.  I suppose you ought to have written ‘ _Lord_ Rumpelstiltskin’ here.  Understandable mistake.”

“No mistake,” Rumpelstiltskin replies, “I don’t think the title’s necessary.  People might make assumptions.  I mean, they most likely will either way, but it needn’t be easy for them.  We’ll follow the spirit of the king’s command, but the lady is the governor, and I- I’ll be her knight.”

Silence rings after his little speech that made so much more sense in his head.  Then he feels a hand sneak into his.  Belle’s gaze is still on him, but now it burns in a way that heats the blood in his veins and reminds him rather sharply that their wedding night is barreling down upon them.  He looks away quickly, studying the wall in hopes of regaining his composure, even if he can’t resist squeezing Belle’s hand.

“Will you leave for the capital today or tomorrow?” Colette inquires.

“Today,” Belle answers, “The sooner we’ve left the southern region the sooner our escort can return to guard the village.”

Ah, right, their plans.  Now the horde in the nearby cave has been killed, Belle has decided it’s time for her to face another enemy.  Gaston needs to answer for his crime of lying about Collioure’s condition.  Rumpelstiltskin is only too happy to accompany her- his stomach still sours at the thought of the man who claimed to be a knight, what he did to Collioure, what he almost did to Belle.  It’s a miracle the she doesn’t recoil from Rumpelstiltskin’s touch, though he knows better than to press his luck.

Aside from making a formal accusation against Gaston, Belle wants to take the cave moss to the capital and inform as many people as possible about its repellant qualities.  If they hurry the army could still be gearing up to leave for the southern campaign.  Even if they can’t grow their own while on the march, if they find some along their route they ought to know of its usefulness.  There will likely be more resources at the capital for sharing the moss with other villages as well.

Belle has never been to the capital.  Rumpelstiltskin idly fantasizes about taking a little time away from their duties to visit the city’s wonders together.  Belle will no doubt be eager to return to Collioure, but perhaps if he’s extra persuasive...

Belle has moved to face Colette, taking hold of her hands and saying, “I suppose now is the time to make it official.”  She lifts her chin and announces to the room, “Let it be witnessed here that I relinquish my role as governor of Collioure to you, Lady Colette, for the duration of my absence.”

Colette smiles, with a hint of nerves.  “You are _certain_ that you wish me to-”

“I trust no one else,” Belle replies firmly, eyes shining with fierce love and pride.  She pulls Colette into a tight embrace, kissing her gray-stained cheek.

At that, the group breaks apart to prepare to leave.  Brevet will come with them, bearing a statement signed by nearly every person in Collioure refuting Gaston’s claim that the village was ever protected by a landslide.  Rumpelstiltskin and Captain Fa have also signed a statement saying they saw no evidence of such on their way to Collioure, even one the ogres may have trampled after Gaston’s departure.  Worry still slithers in Rumpelstiltskin’s gut that the man will somehow escape punishment.  Belle has no hard proof that Gaston ever proposed marriage, or that injured pride at being refused is what motivated his act of revenge.  He could still deny everything, and it may come down to King Xavier’s judgement alone to win justice for Collioure.

Victurnien, Martine, and Arnaud have gathered the people to bid their lady good luck and safe travels.  Their love for her is plain in every teary eye, waved arm, and fervent cheer.  Belle promises them a quick return once she’s shared the truth of Collioure’s plight as well as their miraculous moss with the king.  In the meantime, she assures them Lady Colette, the other council members, and Captain Fa’s army will keep them safe.  With one last heartfelt goodbye, Belle, Brevet, and Rumpelstiltskin mount their horses and ride out through the newly reconstructed gates.  Six soldiers join them and they continue on into the forest.

Rumpelstiltskin rides behind Belle, and surveys their surroundings every time he wants to check on her.  She’s chosen to take this risk, it won’t help to hover over her, waiting for her bravery to crack, as if that was possible.  They spend their first night as a married couple eight feet apart, lashed to separate branches in a tall tree.  The nerves of a soldier instead of a bridegroom keep Rumpelstiltskin awake longer than he prefers and he wakes groggy in a chilled morning.  The next few days pass like this as they travel northeast, always tense but also mercifully quiet.  Finally they reach the first inn that hasn’t been crushed by ogres.  Their escort departs, and Rumpelstiltskin, Brevet, and Belle dismount.

Rumpelstiltskin’s wondering about sleeping arrangements when he notices Belle already walking into the inn with her travel sack slung across her back.  He decides to focus on freeing his own baggage from his horse’s saddle and guiding the animal to a stall in the inn’s stable.

“Sir Rumpel!” a joyous voice cries, and he barely has time to turn and smile before he’s enveloped in a bread-scented embrace.  “Oh, congratulations, such _wonderful_ news!”

“Yes, thank you, Adele,” he replies, softly patting the innkeeper’s back.  Belle has reappeared and Brevet stands with her a few steps away, looking on in matching bemusement.

Adele retreats only far enough to look at him.  “Married to a Marshlands lady, isn’t that _fine?_   Of course you and your lovely wife will take the best room, Vardan and I will stay in another, it’s no trouble, don’t say a word, have you eaten, you arrived just in time for my roast, all of you come inside, we’ve plenty of room, gods know even with the travel ban lifted no one’s eager to be on the road, can’t even keep a maid and groom employed...”

Adele’s stream of chatter and her strong arm banded around Rumpelstiltskin’s torso carry them out of the stable before a single protest can be uttered.  He manages to crane his neck back to whisper, “I’ve stopped here a few times between Collioure and the capital.”

“Really?” Belle replies with a lifted brow, “I thought perhaps you were her favorite son.”

Rumpelstiltskin can only give her a wincing smile as they’re led inside, sat at the kitchen table,  and instantly presented with plates of seasoned vegetables and roast pork.  As the inn’s only guests, Adele and Vardan don’t hesitate to join them.  Rumpelstiltskin is happy for their steady, innocuous conversation that distracts him from thinking of what’s to come.  He imagined they’d rent space on a mattress shared with at least one other traveler, pass a night that was awkward but warmer than out on the road, and be on their way come morning.  Instead, it’ll be him and Belle, in a room, alone.

His gaze wanders to her, and that unique mix of desire and guilt and anxiety rushes through him just before he looks away.  When he first realized how beautiful she was, both inside and out, he did his best to forget it, knowing she couldn’t possibly entertain his attentions while governing a village at war.  But as they grew closer, he began to hope...  The evening he shared some of his training with the dagger, she had his blood pumping in a way he’d never experienced.  But then she told him what’d happened, what Gaston had nearly done to her, and it became crystal clear that she would never accept the suit of another knight.

This plain fact meant nothing to his heart though, and he soon came to understand that he had to leave Collioure, or risk ruining what good will he had with Belle.  It ached like hell to do it- aside from his pathetic pining, Collioure was the first place that felt like home since he left the Frontlands.  He still managed it, and let himself believe Belle might miss him when he was gone.  But even that noble act was destroyed, as the choice was taken from them both at a word from the king.  Rumpelstiltskin was certain Belle would hate him forever, and he wouldn’t blame her for doing so.  And yet, somehow, that great heart of hers, the one that holds an entire village, made space for him as well.

He thinks so, anyway.  It’s not as if he brings much value to their marriage.  A famous name.  Some money.  There must be dozens of better matches Belle could’ve made for herself, if he hadn’t been forced on her.  Rumpelstiltskin grimaces at his plate.  Nothing will be forced on Belle again, he swears it.  She couldn’t escape being married off to a knight, but he will do anything to prove not all knights are like Gaston.  If she tells him to stay two long steps away from her for the rest of their lives, so be it.  Though he will cherish the memory of those kisses they shared on the beach.

“So,” Adele says, leaning half out of her chair with her chin parked on her hand, beaming at Belle, “When was the wedding?”

Belle blinks and replies, “Uh, three days ago.”

Adele’s eyebrows fly up.  “Indeed?  Why, Collioure is three days’ fast ride from here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, we left on the day.”

“And you’ve been on the road since?  Sleeping outdoors?  With no bed?”

Belle’s gaze plummets to the table while her cheeks flush bright pink.  “That’s correct.”

Adele seems to go a bit pale, eyebrows still hoisted to her hairline as she mutters, “Right.  Right then...”  She taps her fingers twice on the table, and once on her lap, then rises.  “Come along with me then, dear, you’re finished eating aren’t you, of course you are, let’s go.”

Belle hardly has time to shoot a bewildered glance around the table before Adele has bustled her out of the kitchen.  Rumpelstiltskin is allowed a moment of silence before Vardan sniggers and digs an elbow into his ribs.  He twists his mouth into a smile, but doesn’t dare speak.

“She’s certainly a pretty thing, Sir Rumpel.  You knights have all the luck.”  Guilt and discomfort roil in Rumpelstiltskin’s gut.  “Just remember, if she’s not-”

“Master Vardan, was it?” Brevet’s voice drops on the space between them like a fallen tree.

“Yes, that’s me,” Vardan replies with an easy grin.

“You should think twice about whatever you intend to say regarding my Lady Belle of House French, the esteemed and noble governor of Collioure.”

Vardan shrinks under Brevet’s steely glower like a chastised child.  “Quite right, sir.  N-no offense meant.”

Rumpelstiltskin stands.  “I’m going to see to the horses, excuse me,” he mutters, and marches from the kitchen without a backwards glance.

As the sun sets, he devotes himself to fetching water and food, shoveling shit, and brushing down every horse with meticulous care.  When it’s well after dark, and he can think of no other chores to do, and must admit it’s too cold to sleep in the stables, he ventures back inside.  Vardan and Brevet have left the kitchen, and the fire is banked in the hearth.  Almost light-headed with nerves, Rumpelstiltskin trudges upstairs and down the hall to Vardan and Adele’s room.  He gives the door three clear knocks- this is another unspoken promise he’s made to Belle.

“Come in,” she answers.

Rumpelstiltskin allows himself to draw one breath, and then enters.  His eyes immediately fall on Belle sitting up in the bed that’s directly across from the door, wearing a white nightdress with intricately embroidered sleeves and a silk ribbon lacing up the front.

She seems about to smile, until she frowns and wrinkles her nose.  “Ugh, you smell like the stable.”

Humiliation burns in Rumpelstiltskin as he pats uselessly at his clothes.  “Oh, right, yes, I do.  I was tending the horses.  Sorry.”

“Adele drew me a bath,” she says, gesturing to the other side of the room where he can just make out a tub behind a changing screen, “Though the water’s cold now.  Maybe I can ask her to heat up more-”

She swings her legs out from under the sheets before Rumpelstiltskin holds up a hand and babbles, “No, please, that’s fine.  It’s no matter.  That will be fine.  Thank you.”

He scurries past the bed and cowers behind the screen before yanking off his clothes and climbing into the tub.  He swallows a hiss at the chill and sets to scrubbing the horsey stink from his skin and pouring handfuls of water on his hair.  The initial panic slowly subsides, only to be born again as he realizes he has no clean clothes put on when he leaves the tub.  His head drops into his hands and he bites out a curse under his breath.

“Rumpel?”

He raises his head, releases a sigh, and accepts his fate.  “Belle, I- ah...  Would you please go to my baggage and get a nightshirt for me?  I’m afraid it slipped my mind before.”

“I was wondering when you’d notice,” she replies with amusement in her voice Rumpelstiltskin chooses to be grateful for.  He listens as her soft footfalls move from the bed to where both their travel sacks are piled against the wall.  After an endless minute, a hand holding a wad of white fabric pops around the screen.

“Many thanks,” Rumpelstiltskin mutters, taking the nightshirt and dropping it by the tub.

The footfalls travel away, and then return.  Another wad of fabric appears.  “I left my towel to dry by the fire.  It’s nice and warm now.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s heart swells as he takes it and murmurs, “Thank you.”

Desperate not to waste the warmth, he climbs out of the tub as soon as Belle has retreated and dries himself briskly from head to toe.  Once he tugs on his nightshirt, he realizes he can no longer hide behind the screen.  The room is dim, he notes.  A little chilly too.  The fire must be burning low.  He’ll fix that.  He strides over to the fireplace, crouching down to see what can be done about this serious problem.  He adds a log and commences poking at it in very specific places.

After a while, a soft voice floats over his shoulder.  “Husband?”

The word hits him like a punch to the chest.  Gods, it didn’t feel real until now.  He is a husband again, like he never thought he would be.  He’s married a woman who astounds him, and she’s right here, in bed, waiting for him to stop being such a coward.  Despite this stunning epiphany, he can’t quite make himself do anything but say, “Yes?”

“Have I offended you somehow?”

Rumpelstiltskin cringes under a fresh wave of guilt.  The most amazing woman in all the realms is his wife, and he’s made her think he despises her.  Of course he did.  He tears his gaze away from the fire and swivels to face Belle where she sits on the edge of the mattress.  “No, you haven’t, not at all.”

She gives him a brittle smile.  “Good.  Then, why are you all the way over there?”

An excellent and highly pertinent question that has no worthy answer.  Rumpelstiltskin stands, and walks to the bed.  Belle’s eyes follow him, and something about the way her head is tipped up seems wrong to him.  So, when he reaches her, he lowers himself down until he sits back on his knees.  That feels much better, even if she’s peering at him with clear puzzlement.  Rumpelstiltskin heaves a breath, and quietly admits, “I’m not quite sure what we should do here, Belle.”

Her puzzlement only grows until she draws on the implacable mask of the lady of Collioure.  “I know my duty.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s stomach churns.  There are few things he wanted to hear her say less than that.  “All right, but may I ask you a question?”

“Yes?”

Digging up all his bravery, he lets his gaze lock on hers.  “Are you ready to be a mother in nine months’ time?”

The mask cracks and her whole body tenses.  She tries to hide it an instant later, but they both know it’s too late.  And so her shoulders sag and her chin drops and she mumbles into her chest, “I-it’s not that I... I mean, I do want to...”

“Can I tell you something?”

Her gaze reluctantly meets his.  “What?”

“I’m...  I’m not ready to be a father again.  I think I will be, later.  But not in nine months.”  He lets the grief he usually keeps tucked in a dark corner of his soul fill his face.  Baelfire.  His sweet boy.  The son he abandoned to chase power and glory.  Sometimes Rumpelstiltskin feels he has no right to grieve Bae’s death, when he chose to miss so much of the boy’s life.  But his stubborn heart won’t be ignored, especially its broken parts.

His confession has the desired effect.  Belle’s hands curl over his shoulders as she murmurs, “That’s fine.  That’s perfectly all right, Rumpel.  We don’t have to...  We don’t have to do anything.”

Rumpelstiltskin nods, and carefully packs away his grief.  He leans closer, bending down until his chin comes to rest on Belle’s knees, his forearms pressed on either side of her on the mattress.  “That’s exactly right,” he tells her, “Neither of us have to do anything we aren’t ready for.  Do you agree?”

“Yes, of course I do.”  Her hands leave his shoulders to smooth over his hair.  Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes slip shut as her touch sends shivers down his spine.  His own hands rise to slowly map the curve of her hips and waist.  He feels her faint gasp more than hears it.

He lifts his head to take in her darkened eyes and pink cheeks.  “I’m glad we agree,” he says, “Though, I wonder if we could do something that we are ready for.”

Belle swallows, caution and curiosity playing over her face.  “Like what?”

“Well...  I ought to say that I’ve not been... completely celibate, since Milah’s passing.  However, I can promise that you won’t find any children running about the realms who look like me and don’t know who their father is.”

Belle gives him a slow blink.  “It’s a little late for riddles, don’t you think?”

Rumpelstiltskin huffs out a laugh.  “Sorry, I’m not making sense, I know.  It’s just that there are more things people can do in bed together than sire the next generation.  I hoped perhaps I might share one or two of them with you, tonight.”

Belle’s cheeks are glowing now, and she nibbles at her lower lip in a way that makes Rumpelstiltskin want to beg to do it for her.

“You’re a reader, I know,” he purrs, “It’s not all books of law and history and nature in your library, is it?  Perhaps you’ve read about what I’m suggesting.  Perhaps you know something I don’t.”

“No...” Belle demurs, though the way her gaze jumps to the far corners of the room indicates that he might be right.  His hands move to her thighs, running up and down in long, firm strokes.  He rises on his knees and leans close enough to brush his nose against hers, feel her quick breath on his lips.

“Just remember,” he whispers, “Only what we’re ready for.  Agreed?”

She nods, “Yes.”

He’s not quite sure who closes the distance between them, maybe they fall together at the same time.  It doesn’t matter when Belle’s arms are twining around him and her mouth is already opening under his.  His tongue dips inside to lick over the roof of her mouth and he greedily collects her responding shiver.  His hands find their way to Belle’s back to pull her closer.  Her legs obligingly part and just that easily his hips are bracketed by her knees, the fabric of their respective night clothes bunched between them.  He groans into her mouth as blood rushes south, even while he quickly resolves to set his need aside for as long as it takes to bring Belle pleasure.

When he ends their latest kiss, she makes a wonderful plaintive sound that he’s happy to turn into a gasp as he lowers his mouth to her neck, then a moan as he carefully scrapes his teeth over a fluttering pulse point.  She’s thoroughly wrapped around him now, her fingers knotted in his damp hair, ankles hooked with heels gently bumping his backside every time he makes her thigh muscles twitch.  While sucking a line of kisses into her neck, Rumpelstiltskin’s hand drifts up, and even if he hasn’t touched thread for many years, his fingers still pluck nimbly at her nightdress’ silk lacing.  Belle gasps a bit and shudders, but presses closer when he pauses.

He doesn’t stop until the nightdress gapes nearly to her navel.  Then he captures her lips with his again and makes an intensive study of their plush softness contrasted with warm weight of her breast in his palm.  As his thumb passes over her nipple, Belle’s entire body jolts against him and she whimpers into his mouth.  Rumpelstiltskin might have only dreamed she’d be so sensitive, when he was alone in bed in the darkest hours of the night.  Now he has the immense joy of cataloging what touches inspire what responses- from a sharp gasp for a light pinch to a deep groan as he softly kneads her breast and everything in between.

His mouth leaves hers to run along her jaw and down her neck again, unable to stop even if he wanted to until he’s taken her other nipple into his mouth.  Belle’s fingers leave his hair and dig into his back, anchoring him to her while his tongue strokes firmly over the tightening bud, moving in time with his thumb as it passes back and forth.  Belle’s all but sobbing above him, shivering and quavering out, “Is- is there s-something I should be doing?”

Rumpelstiltskin hardly understands the question, mostly because he’s too busy grinding his straining cock into the fabric gathered between Belle’s legs.  The way she tilts her hips into him is utterly breathtaking.  “You’re already doing it, my love,” he sighs.  A small bolt of panic manages to crack his arousal as he registers the endearment that slipped from his lips.  Too soon, definitely too soon.  He sets to distracting them both by switching his mouth and hand on Belle’s breasts.  She tastes amazing, all warmth and Adele’s soap and the faint tang of salt.  He wants more, but that would almost definitely be asking too much.  He can barely work up the nerve to let his hand travel further down and run along her inner thigh under the nightdress.

He stops at her caught breath and tense muscles.  He lifts his head to bring his mouth to her ear.  “There is something you know that I don’t, isn’t there?” he asks, and lets the backs of his fingers barely graze along soaked folds, sparking a hiss as Belle trembles against him.  “How to please you.  Really please you.  I want to.  Are you ready to show me?”

Belle’s head lowers until she nuzzles against him, and one of her hands peels off his back and comes down to join his between her legs.  Her arm loops around his neck as she presses his palm against her flesh.  The moan she releases into his ear sounds almost like agony, except for the way her legs loosen and spread further around him.  She rubs herself with the pads of his fingers in a circle that tightens on her hard clit.  It can’t be more than a few minutes before her body tenses and her face drops to the curve of his neck as a choked cry escapes her.

Rumpelstiltskin’s glad Belle’s peak came so quickly.  If he had time to register it, he probably would’ve come right along with her.  While she breaths slow and deep against his neck, he carefully draws his hand back and studies its wet shine in the firelight.  Assuming Belle is still recovering, Rumpelstiltskin dares to bring his hand to his mouth and swipe his tongue over it.

Belle gasps and he tries not to cringe at what she caught him doing.  “I didn’t... um...  I was just...” he mutters as his cheeks burn.

Belle’s other arm comes to rest on his shoulder and her forehead presses against his.  “That’s another thing I know,” she whispers, and the heat of Rumpelstiltskin’s embarrassment is instantly engulfed by a blaze of arousal.

“Is it really?  Well then...  Are you ready?”

Belle sucks her lip into her mouth for a moment, then nods.  Rumpelstiltskin must kiss her then, long and firm before letting his lips draw a new line directly down her neck, between her breasts, and over her abdomen as far as the nightdress will allow.  He ponders asking her to take it off then, but something about the way it clings to her lithe body is so much more appealing than plain nakedness.  Instead he buries his fingers in the smooth fabric and pushes it up Belle’s thighs, exposing only what’s necessary.  He sits back on his heels and lets his eyes fix on the glazed blue of Belle’s.

“Tolerate nothing,” he tells her, “I want to please you.”

She nods again, blinking slowly as her eyes go even darker.  Rumpelstiltskin leans in, mouth trailing up her thigh until he reaches the beautiful wet folds he only just experienced the privilege of touching.  He explores them with the tip of his tongue, and even that is enough to make Belle’s hips surge from the mattress as she barely contains a cry.  Rumpelstiltskin guides her legs to drape over his shoulders before he lays his tongue flat against her and drags it up all the way over her clit.  Belle keens and falls back on the mattress.  His tongue burrows deeper and she arches and bucks so hard he has pin her hips down with his forearm.  Meanwhile his free hand must tightly grip his cock as he desperately clings to the his own rapidly fraying control.

When he presses his tongue into her channel and his nose teases at her clit, two hands and two thighs clamp hard around his head.  He thrusts his tongue into her over and over until spots appear in his vision and he must gently pry her legs apart and drag in a swallow of air.

Belle’s head pops up from the mattress.  “Oh!  Oh, sorry, you- you couldn’t- I’m so sorry...  Just- just breathe, Rumpel.”

He meets her awkward smile with a warm one while obediently inhaling, holding, and exhaling deep breaths just as he showed her, and not missing how she shivers at air flowing over her hot and swollen flesh.  After a few minutes, he asks, “Are you still ready?”

Embarrassment melts back into arousal before she sighs, “ _Please._ ”

“Yes, my lady.”  He leans down again and swirls his tongue the way she moved his fingers, slowly but ruthlessly narrowing focus onto her clit until he can give it a hard suck.  He feels the breeze of Belle slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream as a second climax hits.  Rumpelstiltskin hangs onto her thigh and hip as she thrashes and keeps his mouth exactly where it is, not willing to miss a single drop of Belle.

He releases her only once she’s settled bonelessly on the bed, muttering between heavy breaths, “Gods, Rumpel, that was...”  She lets out a faint laugh.  “I was certainly pleased.”

He rests his head against the edge of the mattress, directing a proud grin at the floor.  “I’m glad.”

He feels a poke at his shoulder and looks to see Belle sitting up on her elbows, giving him a squint.  “However,” she says, “I’m still wondering...”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

There’s still no worthy answer for that question, and while he tries to find one, she pulls her legs up and folds them under her so she can lean forward and bring her hand to his cheek and her mouth to his.  As they trade kisses, her hands find his elbows and ease him up from the floor and onto the bed.

She separates their mouths just far enough to whisper, “Rumpel, do you remember that night in the cave?  I turned over in my sleep, and I woke up plastered to your back, with my arm wrapped around you.  I was embarrassed, or at least I told myself I was.”

“You did think I was married then.”  He wonders sometimes how things might have gone differently if he’d been clearer about that point.  Anyway, it’s difficult in this moment to have regrets.

Belle nods.  “I did.  But that didn’t stop it from feeling good.  Feeling right.”  She wets her lips, then says, “Lie down.”

With this new knowledge buzzing in his head, Rumpelstiltskin does as told, careful throughout of his still achingly hard cock.  Belle has to have noticed it tenting his nightshirt.  He silently begs any god who’s listening that she won’t simply curl up behind him and fall asleep.  Or at least that she won’t be horrified if he takes care of it himself.

Belle does indeed curl up behind him so they touch from foot to shoulder.  But then she pillows Rumpelstiltskin’s head on her arm, while her other hand trails down his arm, then over his chest, then his stomach.  “Belle, _please_ ,” he whimpers as she skirts around his cock to stroke along his thigh.

“Are you ready, husband?”

“Yes!” he cries, wincing at the volume but too far gone to hide his need any longer.

Belle chuckles into his ear while her hand moves under his nightshirt and creeps up his thigh.  “This is something you know that I don’t.  You’ll help me please you, yes?”

Rumpelstiltskin heaves several deep breaths as Belle’s hand carefully wraps around his length.  He musters just enough control to cover her hand with his and tighten her grip, then slowly draw it up, adding a twist that brushes her knuckle against the most sensitive part of him.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” he grinds out, “Just... it needs to be... slicker.”  Eyes screwed shut, clinging to sanity, he pulls her hand all the way over the dripping head to coat her palm.

“Right, I see,” she murmurs, and he could almost weep with gratitude that she’s not disgusted.  Her hand slides back to the base and he groans and thrusts forward helplessly.

“More, gods, Belle, please...”

“Yes,” she whispers while molding her body even closer to him, then setting herself to steady strokes mirroring what he showed her.

“Faster, faster, please,” he begs, grimacing as he searches for a rhythm between his thrusts and her strokes.  Eventually she matches him and his pleasure soars.  He’s almost never held it in check for so long, and it consumes him like wildfire.  In only minutes he grabs Belle’s hand and squeezes it around him and he can only hope his grip doesn’t hurt her as his climax rips through his mind and body, leaving him a twitchy gasping mess beside her.

Belle daintily wipes her hand on the fabric covering his thigh while her other hand combs through his hair.  “I think we were both very ready for that,” she remarks softly.

Rumpelstiltskin’s laugh is a little closer to a sob than he means it to be, “Reckon so.”  He briefly contemplates the sticky fluid soaking into his nightshirt before sitting up and tugging it off, mopping up the remaining smears and tossing it somewhere near the tub.  If Belle can stand to touch him, he figures she can probably stand to look at him.  As soon as he lies back down, her hand is on his chin, guiding his mouth to hers for a soft kiss before she rests her head on his chest, face turned up to his.

“I barely touched you, didn’t I?” she murmurs regretfully, “Hardly fair, after you did so much work for me.”

His breath stutters as her thumb strokes over his nipple.  He catches her wrist to still her.  “You did more than enough, Belle.  I... I’m through, for one night.”

“All right, if you’re sure.”  Her palm flattens out and radiates heat into his skin.

He presses his own over it and lays his other arm across her back.  As a dreamy haze closes in, he idly murmurs, “What I did will never be work.  Just to have the chance to... to care for you in any way... Thank you, Belle.”

She’s silent for a moment before muttering, “We’ll see if you thank me when we’re hours in with the chamberlain finding the coin to pay for food.  Or when we’re rebuilding homes from hunks of scrap.  Or visiting all the wounded...”

“I will,” he states, “It’s what I want.  I never expected to have this.  To _stay_ somewhere.  I told you before, I don’t stay.  I don’t have a- a home.  I do what I’m sent to do and then I go.  What happens next isn’t my concern.  That’s for people like you, who stay, who never stop fighting, no matter what.  And that takes more bravery than I ever had.  That’s what makes you a hero.”

Belle buries her face in his neck and he feels hot tears slip along his skin.  “It can get lonely,” she whispers as if confessing a terrible secret.

He bands both arms around her as tight as he dares.  “That’s exactly the reason I have to stay.  This is my mission.  And it’s forever.”

Perhaps he can only say the words that mean “I love you” for now, but he feels heard.  Belle says nothing, but with one shuddery breath, some tiny knot of tension within her releases, and her body relaxes against him.  And he hears her as they both drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks very much for reading!
> 
> ETA: [A NSFW follow-up on Tumblr.](http://lotus0kid.tumblr.com/post/161424149868/ouat-a-real-hero-follow-up)


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